Daylight
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: 1960 Ballarat, Australia. A doctor who solves murder mysteries. A housekeeper with a secret. A visiting spy. A secretary with more than meets the eye. Lucien and Jean, Harry and Ruth. The four intersect in a twisting tale of murder, intrigue, jealousy, prejudice, and romance. Sometimes things may seem black and white or even burning red but they turn out to be golden.
1. Chapter 1

**Daylight**

It was a day like any other. Mattie was off on her district nursing rounds. Charlie was on duty at the police station. Lucien was seeing a patient in the surgery. Jean was in the kitchen washing up after breakfast. Everything was completely normal in the Blake house. For the moment, anyway.

Jean knew it was only a matter of time before the telephone rang and it would be Matthew Lawson asking for Lucien to come see to a dead body. Then he'd be in the autopsy with Alice and be home whenever he was finished, and he and Charlie would discuss the case at the dinner table, and Mattie would ask her questions, and Jean would give her opinion when the moment warranted. But that was all normal in its way, too. And Jean would not have done anything to change it.

Still, stagnation seemed to slowly close its fist around her. The excitement brought from William Munro and his irrational hatred of Lucien was gone, now. Doug Ashby had died when Lucien had learned the truth of his mother's death. But now Matthew was back at his post and everything had returned to normal. Such that it was.

The torment of it all had nearly caused Jean to leave. She had been ready to tell everyone that she was moving to Adelaide to be with Christopher and Ruby and their new baby, Amelia. But then the army posted Christopher to Indonesia for two years, and as much as Jean may have wanted an easy escape from her current situation, going to a foreign country was not at all an option for her. Ruby was managing well with Amelia, now that she'd gotten over her colic, and Christopher's last letter had been a very optimistic one indeed. Jean was pleased for her son, of course, but it did leave her in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

"Jean, I've just sent Claire Hoskins on her way. Next time she calls, remind her that she's got to be regular with her insulin or she's going to continue to feel listless," Lucien said as he breezed through the kitchen.

"I'll be sure to tell her," she replied.

"Thank you," he answered.

He moved behind her to get a glass of water and placed his hand on the small of her back. Innocent enough, surely. But Lord in heaven, why did he persist with such things? Didn't he know how inappropriate it was to be so…physical?

"Now then, what are you doing today?"

Jean blinked a bit to return to reality. "I've got the sheets to wash, and this afternoon I thought I'd get a start on polishing the silver. I know you never want us to use it, but it's been sitting there for so long. Most of those pieces were your mother's, weren't they?"

Lucien nodded. He was leaning back on the counter beside her and sipping from the glass of water he'd poured. "I won't stop you, but you needn't go to the extra work."

"It's my job to keep the house, and tarnished silver reflects poorly on my abilities and on the propriety of the household," she said tartly.

He chuckled, putting his empty glass in the sink. "I appreciate your dedication, Jean. More than I can say." He gave her shoulder a slight squeeze and then left, saying behind him, "I'll be in the study finishing those patient notes and getting a jump on the inventory."

Jean smiled to herself and gave a little sigh. Perhaps this normalcy wasn't so much stagnation. Perhaps things did not need to progress in any particular direction. Perhaps everything was as it needed to be. The clamoring of her heart might never quiet, but she knew that if she did anything to stop Lucien Blake from behaving as he did toward her or, heaven forbit, if she were to leave his presence altogether, Jean knew she would miss it. She would miss this desperate yearning she felt toward him. She would miss the small crumbs of affection he gave her. And she would miss feeling this dangerous hope for the possibility of something more.

* * *

"I hate this country," Harry grumbled as they stepped off the bus.

"Don't be rude. We're here to do a job and it wouldn't hurt you to remember that we're visitors," Ruth chided, following behind him with her holdall.

"Here, let me take that for you," he offered.

"No, thank you," she said for the thousandth time. "You might also remember that I'm your secretary and it isn't your place to carry my bags. I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

Harry sighed with weariness. "I know very well what you're capable of, Ruth."

"We're in public," she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Miss Evershed."

"I'll go speak to the porter." Ruth hurried away from her boss, somewhat frantic to have a moment by herself. The journey from London to Australia had been a very long one indeed. Crammed together on an airplane and then a train and then a bus. It was more time than they'd spent in each other's company in quite some time. Torturous, really.

And despite Ruth's insistence that they were sent to do an important job, that Sir Harry Pearce had been chosen by the Prime Minister to liaise with the various commonwealth Security Services, she did know the truth. Harry was being punished. They couldn't give him the sack because he was too important and he knew too much. But they did not want to let him do anything too risky or anything that required too much of his somewhat faulty judgement. And it was just the icing on the proverbial cake that he had been allowed to make Ruth go with him.

One might have been confused by that allowance, as Harry had just been relieved of his suspension for trading military secrets—faulty military secrets, but secrets nonetheless—in exchange for Ruth's life. He had defended himself from the inquiry with an objective report of Ruth's merits as his secretary and her usefulness to the Service, but that had been a convenient excuse. Ruth had been kidnapped by Soviet operatives to manipulate Harry. Ruth had been kidnapped because, after six years working as his secretary, everyone seemed to know that Harry would burn down the world for her sake. And he nearly had. And she knew she would never forgive him for it.

And now they were sent to the very edge of the earth, to Australia, to attend some pointless meetings with Australian Intelligence for the sole purpose of punishing Harry and Ruth by saddling them together and flinging them off where they couldn't be in the way of anyone else. They had absolutely no choice in the matter, and after the week of travel and initial introductions at the capital, they had figured out that they could do nothing but ceaselessly snipe at each other.

Ruth spoke with the porter about having their bags delivered to the hotel where they'd been booked. She'd made all the arrangements herself. She was a secretary. That was her job.

"Everything taken care of?" Harry asked, striding purposefully towards her.

"Yes, our luggage will be delivered. The porter is calling a cab for us now," she answered.

He nodded. "That's good."

"I don't think people around here are going to like us very much," she pointed out. It had not escaped her that every Aussie they encountered seemed to narrow his or her eyes upon hearing an English accent.

"Well I don't like them much either. Bloody prison colony. We won't be here long, so it shouldn't matter whether or not they like us," he replied gruffly.

"That's not a productive attitude," she chided.

"I'm not feeling very productive. After the bollocking we got in Canberra, I'm not feeling too pleasantly predisposed to being in the middle of nowhere in Australia."

"The city is called Ballarat. It's an important military position. It's mostly a mining town but it's seen its fair share of interesting things," Ruth informed him.

"You researched it before we got here, didn't you?" His eyes shone with pride at her.

"Yes, of course I did," she answered in slight annoyance.

Harry had to chuckle. "Good girl, Ruth."

She turned to him with fire in her eyes. "What was that, sir?"

His expression soured again. "Apologies, Miss Evershed."

Ruth gave a curt nod, hoping he'd remember propriety for the remainder of their week-long stay in Ballarat. "Come on, the taxi's here," she said. She did not wait for him as she hurried toward the waiting car.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucien planned on putting his patient notes in order. Planned on organizing his files and then doing the inventory in the surgery. When he'd first taken over his father's practice, he assumed Jean did the inventory. It was not until he ran out of gauze that he learned that Dad had done the inventory himself and given it to Jean for ordering. Lucien had then taken up the task. Though not with the same regularity anyone would have perhaps wanted. Jean would probably do the inventory for him if he asked her to. But Jean did enough around the house. It was the least he could do to make her unending work a little lighter.

Ah, Jean. Why was it that his thoughts would turn to her? Well, he knew why. He'd tried to ignore it, tried to deny it, tried to change his own mind. But nothing seemed to work. Perhaps because he wasn't actually trying very hard. He liked thinking about her like this. He liked looking at her across the dinner table and smiling. He liked having her as such a permanent facet of his life in this way.

And as much as he wanted to try to hope for something more between them, for them to share more than they did now, the delicate balance of their lives was so precarious. To push her for anything more might frighten her off. And if she ever left him, Lucien knew he'd be utterly lost. So rather than upset the apple cart, he allowed things to remain just as they were. He'd let her fill his thoughts and dreams. He'd smile at her, maybe risk a gentle touch of her person when it felt natural to do so. And he'd keep his housekeeper keeping his house and he would pay her wages and that would be that.

Lucien was interrupted, as he often was, by the ringing of the phone. He answered it right away, not wanting Jean to interrupt what she was doing and rush to get it. "Doctor Blake's surgery," he greeted.

"Hi Doc, the boss needs you down at the Soldier's Arms," Charlie said on the line.

"Oh? What's going on?" Lucien knew that his presence at the main hotel in Ballarat could be a few different things. Could be a bar fight where the police surgeon would patch up the parties involved and give the police his opinion regarding their injuries. Could be a natural death ofone of the guests. Could be a murder of a guest or member of staff or anyone else. All sorts end up in a hotel, after all.

"One of the guests has passed away. And I'm not the expert, but I think it's a strange one," Charlie told him.

Lucien frowned. "Strange how?"

"Fight gone bad, maybe. But the room is spotless and there's no sign of struggle except on the body. He's pretty bloodied up, but nothing that looks bad enough to kill."

"I'll get my things and come right down," Lucien replied. If the situation were as Charlie said, it might be very interesting indeed. "Call ahead to Alice and let her know we'll have an autopsy this afternoon."

With that, Lucien hung up the phone and gathered his things in his black leather medical bag. He took the bag and quickly went to the kitchen. Jean had begun polishing the silver.

"That was Charlie. There's been a death at the Soldier's Arms. Apparently it might be an odd one."

She turned, her hands covered in gloves and those gloves covered in silver polish. "Odd how?"

"Well, I'll have to see for myself."

Jean pursed her lips, clearly trying not to smile. "I see."

Lucien laughed, "I'll tell you all about it when I get home."

"An odd death is not a laughing matter," she scolded lightly. "Nor is it fodder for dinnertime entertainment."

"No, of course not. But discussing odd deaths over the dinner table while enjoying whatever marvelous meal you've made is quite my favorite part of the day," Lucien replied.

A look of slight surprise crossed her face. Jean had such a very expressive face. She even looked like she might be blushing a little bit. That pink in her cheeks was ever so lovely. Lucien had a sudden strange urge to press his lips to her pink cheek as he told her goodbye, but he thankfully resisted that impulse. "I'll be home in time for dinner," he promised.

And with that, he left the kitchen, grabbed his hat and car keys, and went on his way.

* * *

Harry paced back and forth in his hotel room. The Soldier's Arms was not a bad sort of place, but it was not at all where he wanted to be. Though there was not a single place in Australia he wanted to be. But Harry had always been rather good at standing up and bearing the consequences of his actions. And this punishment, however petty and obnoxious and pointless, was one that he would accept. For what he'd done, he knew he was lucky to have stayed out of prison. When viewed from a certain light, Harry had committed treason. Actually, no matter how you viewed it, what he'd done was treason. He had no business ever seeing the light of day again.

But it did not do to dwell on what might have happened. Really, that's what got him into that mess to begin with. Lucas North—or John Bateman, as his true identity ended up being—had known all too well the lengths that Harry would go to if Ruth was in danger. Bateman had taken Ruth and given her over to the Soviets as leverage to get the Albany technology. Harry had been so out of his mind with concern over what might happen to Ruth that he did what would have been unthinkable to anyone else.

Never mind that Albany had the destructive power of Hiroshima many times over. Never mind that it was a classified British secret. Never mind that having it in anyone's hands, let alone the enemy, might end civilization as they knew it. Ruth was hooked up to an IV of some drug that would eventually kill her if he did not reach her in time. And if he had not handed over Albany, he would not be told where she was.

Oh his analysts were searching for her with all the technology they possessed. And his other officers had done their damnedest to keep Harry from retrieving Albany from it's hiding place in that church. But nothing was going to stop him. Nothing could stop him. Not when it came to saving Ruth. He had sprinted through the streets of London to get to her, to rip the needle out of her vein and cradle her in his arms and weep over her limp body as he begged her to wake up.

When all was said and done, the Soviets figured out that Albany didn't work, something Harry had known from the beginning. John Bateman had died for his failure. And Ruth, thinking Harry had handed over the worst weapons technology to the Russians, looked at him with the most devastating expression of horror and disappointment and said the words that echoed in his mind every minute of every day.

"It was my turn, Harry. My turn to sacrifice. And you didn't let me. And in that moment, it was unfair for you to love me."

The bile rose in his throat every time he allowed himself to really think about it. But perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was unfair for him to love her, to sacrifice so much for her. It was not just his personal sacrifice that time. She had thought he had sacrificed the safety of humanity for her sake.

The truth came out during his disciplinary hearings, when Harry had confessed his knowledge that Albany was a failure and when he had presented his painstaking report over Ruth's objective merits to prove that he had not made his choices for personal reasons but professional ones. The real truth, of course, was that he probably would have handed over Albany even if it worked if it meant saving Ruth's life. She was just a secretary to the panel who had sought to punish him, but to him, she was everything. It almost did not matter now that she hated him. He loved her anyway. He could not help but love her.

And now he was shunted off to the side on this stupid trip to Australia. They'd only allowed Ruth to go with him because they knew no one else put up with the way she tended to rise above her station. Yes, she did typing and managed his schedule like a proper secretary. But she was fluent in eight languages and she had a better mind than any analyst Harry had ever worked with. She was his right hand and his very heart, and he if he had to see the demise of his professional career with the Security Service and travel all the way to the ends of the earth, at least he could be with her.

A knock on the door interrupted his depressed pacing. "Police," the visitor announced.

Harry came to open the door to see a young man in uniform standing there.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir. Routine inquiry. May I have your name and the nature of your stay here, please?"

The constable could not have been more polite, and he was just doing his job. But Harry was in a rotten mood. "No you may not. And since you're going up and down the halls bothering people, I think I'll go down to the bar."

Harry brushed past the police officer and closed his hotel room door behind him as he went downstairs to the lobby.


	3. Chapter 3

Lucien arrived in the lobby of the hotel and looked around. Charlie was talking to the front desk staff and gave a nod of acknowledgement. Ned and Matthew were probably around somewhere as well, but he couldn't see them from where he was. He made his way over to Charlie for directions ran right into a young woman who was hurrying down the main stairs.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," she said, looking up at him.

Upon seeing her face, Lucien could tell that she wasn't as young as he'd first thought. She was small and weary-looking. Her dark hair was very shiny and well-coifed around her face in the way that seemed to be of fashion for young women nowadays. But her accent was not Australian but English. That perhaps explained the hair. Even the lower classes of the English were more posh than the upper classes of Australia. But this woman—however old or young she was—seemed perfectly lovely, to Lucien's mind.

He had caught her arm to keep her from falling when she collided with him. He unhanded her and gave a friendly smile. "My fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." As Lucien looked at her, he was struck by her eyes. They were blue, but not like any blue he'd ever seen. They were like a storm on the sea, swirling pale gray and blue. A man could get lost in those eyes, to be sure.

The young woman gave him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod and hurried away again. Lucien watched her go, somewhat fascinated by the way she seemed to make herself smaller as she scurried toward the bar. She wore a simple navy dress that buttoned down the front and cinched at her slender waist. Her stockings had a seam up the back, something that was quite old-fashioned nowadays. But perhaps it was a trend in England. She had rather nice legs, despite the way she walked quickly and without any feminine guile. Not like Jean, who had a walk that drove him mad if he watched her for too long. Good lord, the sway of that woman's hips!

There he was, thinking about Jean again. He shook himself, prepared to turn back and go see to Charlie, but then he saw where the Englishwoman was going. She approached a man in a suit sitting at the bar. And the very sight of that man made Lucien's blood boil in his veins.

Without another thought, he marched right up to the man, ignoring the woman he'd just bumped into. "You have no business being here," he growled.

There was a spark of recognition in the man's honey-hazel eyes. And he began to laugh. "Christ, are you still alive?"

"The same could be said for you, Pearce," Lucien snarled.

"Settle down, Major Blake." He stood, standing almost a full head shorter than Lucien, and looked around cautiously to try to mitigate the scene being caused. "What the devil are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

"I live here. I'm the police surgeon here to see to a body. Though now seeing you, I think I can work out what's happened." Lucien was practically shaking with rage.

"Miss Evershed and I are here on official business. A completely above-board and innocent visit to review security measures in the commonwealth."

"You're here for some spook purpose, and don't think about leaving until I can prove it. Remember, Harry, I know how you operate," he threatened.

Harry remained as cool and aloof as before. "Best of luck with the body. I'll be investigating the scotch on offer right here." And with that, he sat back down and turned away from Lucien.

Lucien was about to say something else when he heard Matthew Lawson bark out his name. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning with a huff. He had a job to do. And that job was to prove that the English spy sitting at the bar had killed a man in the hotel.

* * *

Ruth watched that strange man walk away. She'd run straight into him, hitting that huge wall of solid muscle that made up the body wrapped in the smart blue suit. His eyes were the bluest blue she'd ever seen. And his smile was enough to make any woman a bit weak at the knees. Though he had a beard, and she'd never much trusted a man with facial hair.

She turned back to Harry who was sitting at the bar seemingly without a care in the world. "What on earth was that?" she asked, hoping to get some explanation for why that man had accosted Harry.

But Harry just shook his head and took a sip of his scotch. "Never you mind, Ruth. An unfortunate history is all that is."

"If he works with the police, don't you think it might cause trouble?" she asked with concern.

He scoffed, "When has a little trouble with foreign law enforcement ever been a problem for us?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his annoying flippancy. "We aren't usually in the foreign country when their law enforcement is giving us trouble. I'm serious, Harry."

"I have no doubt that you are, Ruth. But enough of that. I assume you came to find me for a reason before Blake rudely interrupted you."

Ruth was sufficiently reminded of her original purpose, of the reason she was hurrying down the stairs without looking where she was going and running into that…Blake. "Erm, yes, did you hear that someone's died on our floor?" she asked him.

"Oh is that what's happened? A constable knocked on my door to ask my name and the nature of my business. I politely told him to bugger off."

"Harry, you didn't!"

"Not in those exact terms, but that's why I came down here. I couldn't be bothered to answer police questions. Whatever's going on has nothing to do with me and I'd rather not get involved," he answered.

Ruth could tell he was in one of his moods. Best to let him just drink away his troubles and get on with it. "Whatever you say, sir," she answered with a resigned sigh.

"Oh stop that. Come sit and have a drink," he offered, gesturing to the open seat beside him.

There were policemen going up and down the halls, and there was a dead body in the room two doors down from hers—she'd heard that much from the gossip in the corridor when the policeman had first knocked for her information. Ruth had nothing better to do and certainly no one else she wanted to talk to, so she sat beside Harry and ordered and gin and tonic.

They sat there at the hotel bar doing their best to ignore the activity on the other side of the lobby. When Ruth was trying to keep her mind off things like that, she usually attempted to make conversation. But she had no intention of talking to Harry when he was like this. And talking to Harry would not end well, she was sure. Certainly not when they were drinking either.

Her mind drifted back to that man. Blake, Harry had called him. Major Blake. Had he been in the Army with Harry? If she had to guess, the two men were about the same age. Harry was perhaps a bit older. That Blake was in much better shape than Harry was, but that didn't say much. Ruth knew what Harry had been through, why he'd been promoted to a desk job that kept him sedentary and stressed and turned his heart hard and his body soft.

An unfortunate history, that's what Harry had said. She had read Harry's personnel file backwards and forwards, and she'd never come across a Major Blake in there. Certainly not one who was Australian and now working as a police surgeon. He must be a doctor, then. Had he saved Harry's life during one of the myriad of near-fatal injuries he'd sustained during his field career? Or was it perhaps something less dramatic? Blake had said he knew how Harry operated, and he said it in a less than respectful tone. The thought did cross Ruth's mind that perhaps Harry had slept with Blake's wife. She wanted to believe better about Harry Pearce, but given what she knew of his past, it was entirely possible. Actually, it was entirely likely. And it would cause a man to practically bubble with fury upon seeing Harry's face, particularly when he was in one of his snotty, unaffected moods like this.

Everything in her wanted to ask Harry more about Blake and their history together, but instead she just sipped her drink and forced herself to keep quiet. Nothing good ever came from discussing personal things with Harry. It was against her very nature to resist asking questions, but for once, Ruth listened to that small part of her with some sense of self-preservation. This trip with Harry was long and isolating. It was just the two of them. There was nowhere for her to run. Which was probably why he'd requested for her to accompany him. She'd just have to play the good little obedient secretary and keep his appointments and take notes for him during their meetings and perhaps they could get through this without bringing about any more international disasters.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lucien, what are you doing accosting hotel guests in the bar?" Matthew asked. His tone was quiet but grave. Lucien knew that tone. He was often the recipient of that tone, when something had gone wrong and his friend had lost all patience for Lucien's less than conventional methods.

But Lucien was in no mood to be scolded. He could not stand by and let this happen. "Lawson, that man should be top of your suspect list."

The Chief Superintendent raised his brows at that. "Ned, what did you get on him?" he asked his constable.

Poor Ned craned his neck a bit to see the man they were speaking of. His face immediately fell. "Oh. Him. Well, he…he wouldn't answer any of my questions."

Lucien answered on Ned's behalf. "He probably wouldn't have given you the truth anyway. His name is Harry Pearce. He's English. He works for the Security Service."

That caught Lawson's attention. "You want me to arrest a spook for murder?!" he hissed.

"Mark my words, Matthew, death follows that man. I know how he works. I've seen him in action. You've got to bring him in," Lucien implored.

Ned added, "His room is right next to the victim."

"You see? He easily could have gone next door and done what he does and slipped out and left no trace of anything behind. That's how he does things!" Lucien exclaimed.

Seeing that they were causing a bit of fuss, Matthew knew he had to get this in hand. "Ned, get the records from the front desk. Find out how long Mr. Pearce has been in the hotel. Lucien, you go look at the body, since I know you haven't yet. We want to get him cleared out as soon as possible. And once you tell us how he died, we can see who might have done it." Lucien was about to interject, but Matthew cut him off. "It may or may not be that spook of yours. Find some bloody evidence first."

And with that, Matthew sent Ned to talk to the desk clerk and Charlie led Lucien upstairs to the victim's room. They'd cordoned off the hallway and the room itself, so they stepped around the ropes to make their way in.

When they got inside the room, Lucien allowed all concerns about Harry Pearce fall away. He had a job to do. A man—quite young, maybe about twenty, wearing brown trousers and a blue short-sleeved buttoned shirt—lay dead in the middle of the floor. Charlie's description over the phone was exactly right. He was bloodied up quite a bit. Cuts on his mouth and cheek and brow, blood from his nose. But a few blows to the face wouldn't kill. Lucien took his time examining everything. He'd expected to see a head wound, some blunt force trauma that would have killed him. But the skull was perfectly intact. His eyes were closes and the rest of his body looked, at first glance, entirely undisturbed. Almost like he'd fainted, save for the injuries to his face.

"Who is he, Charlie?" Lucien asked softly.

"According to the front desk, this room is registered to Michael Nesbit. He'd reserved three nights. He checked in yesterday."

"Anything else?"

"We haven't gone through his personal effects yet, but everything will be examined. We'll be taking fingerprints off the doorknob, but we aren't expecting much. Between Michael, the maids, the bellman, and police, there's probably nothing usable there."

Lucien nodded in agreement. "Who found him?"

"The maid on her usual rounds. She knocked and when there was no answer, she came in. The door was unlocked, but she said that's not unusual. Guests often forget to lock the door behind them if they've just gone down to the bar for lunch or something."

"What's the maid's name?"

"Mary."

"I'd like to speak with her later."

Charlie just nodded.

With a sad sigh, Lucien got up from where he had been kneeling beside the body. "Alright, give the ambos a call. I'll go head to the morgue to see Alice. We'll see what we can find."

"Cause of death?"

"Not sure yet. You're right, Charlie, this is an odd one."

* * *

Harry ordered another round of drinks. It was teatime, and they'd not had any lunch, but wasn't hungry. If the plods were going to be stalking the hotel much longer, he'd have to find a restaurant so he and Ruth could have something to eat.

He risked a glance at her sitting beside him. She was slowly and silently sipping her G&T. There had been a few occasions where she'd shared a scotch with him, but that wasn't in public. Most of the things they'd shared hadn't been in public. Ruth wouldn't allow it, and she was probably right. The way they'd been, before Albany and all that unpleasantness, they couldn't have been in front of anyone else. How would it look, knight of the realm higher-up in the Security Service deferring to his secretary on everything? A young and inexperienced secretary reviewing top secret documents and providing expert translations? Neither of them would have kept their jobs this long if anyone knew how it was that they actually did their jobs. Though after Harry's report to the committee after Albany, everyone had a much better idea about it. And rather than firing them both, the powers that be decided instead to ship them off to Australia.

So here they were, awkward and uncomfortable and drinking in the middle of the day. It wasn't like Ruth to do any of that. She would usually have wine with dinner or a scotch with him late at night but nothing else. She also wasn't very good at being quiet. Harry was more used to her asking a million questions and getting tongue-tied as her brain moved faster than her mouth could form the words. He smiled to himself at that, remembering the last time she'd burst into his office—without knocking, Ruth never knocked—and stuttering like mad. He'd had to interrupt her and tell her to take a breath and find the words. She had looked quite grateful to him for that. It had been a long time since she'd looked grateful to him.

"Ruth, why don't you go ahead and ask your questions. I can feel you practically vibrating with curiosity," he eventually said.

She did not hesitate to put her glass down and turn to him. "Who is that man and why does he dislike you so much and what's the unpleasant history between you?"

Harry nearly laughed. She might hate him half the time now, but she was still herself and he was ever so pleased to see it. But she had asked him a series of serious questions and he would give her serious answers. "His name is Lucien Blake. He trained in Edinburgh as a surgeon and then joined the army. I didn't know he was from Ballarat, just that he's Australian. He was stationed in Singapore, if I remember correctly. And he was captured by the Japanese during the war. Held in a prison camp for three years."

"Three years in a Japanese prison camp!?" Ruth exclaimed in surprise.

She knew better than most the treatment of prisoners of war by the Japanese. It had been her first job with the government after Oxford to work with former prisoners, transcribing the interviews for the archives. It had been that work that had caused Harry to hire her all those years ago. She listened to the worst of humanity's treatment and written down the words in black and white and continued on until the work was done. It was a very well-known fact that most secretaries on those jobs did not last more than a few weeks. Ruth had lasted four years. She'd never requested a transfer or quit or made any sort of complaint. She had persevered. And it was that mettle that intrigued Harry from the first moment he saw her CV.

"I didn't know anyone survived that long," she said quietly.

Harry just nodded and continued on. "I didn't meet him till after that. He'd been recruited by the Service for his rather unique abilities. He spoke and understood most of the Asiatic languages in the area. I remember he was fluent in Mandarin, Tamil, Malay, and Tagalog. Along with French and a bit of Spanish."

"Very useful," Ruth noted. She herself spoke Mandarin, Tagalog, French, and Spanish, among others, but she wasn't as familiar with Tamil or Malay.

"Very," Harry agreed. "And he was a doctor and a soldier, which made him extremely good in the field. After he was recruited, he was assigned to my team in Hong Kong."

"Oh I see," she said knowingly.

Harry did not talk about Hong Kong very much. It was a part of his past that he wasn't very proud of. The things that had to be done in those post-war years in Hong Kong were unsavory to say the least. China was in the midst of a revolution with Mao Zedong at the helm of the communist takeover. The Americans had a stranglehold over the Japanese. Korea had rumblings of communist influence. And it was Harry's job to manage as much of it for Queen and Empire as he could. Of course, the Empire was getting smaller every day, it seemed. Countries were turning Red left and right. Spies were par for the course everywhere you turned. It was vicious and bloody and lawless in the extreme. Looking back, it was like those Western films from America where the black rider would come into town and have a duel at ten paces with the local sheriff. Only every rider wore black and the duels happened in back alleys where no one ever saw or heard a thing and instead of pistols at ten paces, there were handguns with silencers and knives with serrated edges and steel wire garrotes slicing throats before anyone could even cry out.

"So why doesn't this Lucien Blake like you?" Ruth asked when Harry got lost in his memory.

"He saved my life and I didn't thank him for it," Harry said simply.

Ruth's face was a sea of emotion. Her eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks flushed with understanding and then her brow furrowed in displeasure. Perhaps that particular wording had been unkind, but Harry had spent these last few months on eggshells with her and he needed to get a bit of his own back.

He continued, "We were undercover, following some Soviet agents who we knew were selling weapons and strategy to the Maoists. And to make a very long story short, I was shot. And instead of leaving me and protecting his cover and continuing the operation like I ordered him to do, Blake got me to safety and removed the bullet from my leg and patched me up till we got to a hospital."

"Your knee," she realized aloud.

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's what happened to my knee. Thanks to Blake, I don't even limp. I'd have lost my leg or probably died if he'd left me. I was taken out of the field and sent back to London for my cushy desk job. But before I left, I discharged Blake from service."

"He saved your life!"

"He disobeyed a direct order and completely ruined an operation. He had blown both our covers, and he could no longer be useful in Hong Kong," Harry snapped. He'd made the right decision, he knew. If it had been any other commanding officer, Blake would have gotten a lot worse for what he did. It was an unkindness that Harry had done, and he knew that. Particularly after what Lucien had done for him. But Blake was reckless and even more of a drinker than Harry was, and he'd always had a feeling that any other officer would end up breaking Blake into a thousand pieces and trying to build him back up to what he was supposed to be. But that wouldn't have worked on Lucien Blake. Not after what he'd gone through. And if Harry couldn't be there to look out for him, Lucien needed to be somewhere else, somewhere far away.

Ruth sat there and searched Harry's face for a moment until she seemed to have found something that satisfied her. She turned away and had another sip of her drink. "We should find somewhere for an early dinner, I think," she suggested.

Harry just grunted in agreement and went back to his scotch.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're doing some very odd examinations," Alice commented warily. "What are you looking for?"

They were in the initial stages of the autopsy and Lucien had taken to reviewing parts of the victim's body differently than what would have been usual. Alice was very good at what she did. Lucien appreciated and respected her for that. But this was different. He was trying to catch a spook. The rules were different here. "I don't know what I'm looking for till I find it," Lucien explained.

"Well yes, that's the nature of an autopsy. We look and see what we find and determine a cause of death. Though here, the cause of death is pretty obvious," she noted.

Lucien took a step back and sighed sadly. The bruising around Michael Nesbit's neck had shown up in the few hours since his death. "Poor lad." Strangulation indeed very obvious now. And there were finger marks in those bruises. Someone—perhaps Harry Pearce—had put a single hand around Michael's neck and squeezed till the young man had died. After the beating he took, he probably hadn't the strength to fight back.

"Can we continue on or do you want to check his fingernails again?" Alice asked acerbically.

"No, let's move along. I should be home for dinner if possible. But I want us to take our time. I don't want to miss anything," he said.

They made their notes and performed the autopsy by the letter. No stone left unturned, as it were. Blood and stomach contents would need to be analyzed just in case, but Alice did not seem concerned by anything on the internal examination. So far, it was just a beating and strangulation that killed Michael Nesbit.

"Time of death midday, sometime between eleven and two?" Lucien asked, reviewing their initial report.

"Based on temperature and the progression of the bruising, I'd say probably closer to one o'clock," Alice replied.

"Good. That's perfect."

"You have a suspect in mind, don't you? That's why you're looking at everything so closely," she deduced.

"Yes," Lucien confessed. "There's a man in the hotel with the room right next to Nesbit who is highly suspicious. A trained killer, in fact."

"Oh?" she asked in surprise.

"An English spy."

"Like James Bond?!"

"You read those books?" he asked incredulously.

Alice squared her shoulders somewhat defiantly. "No, but I've heard of them."

"Well, he's far less charming than James Bond, but the concept is similar."

"And how do you know this James Bond?" she asked curiously.

"His name is Harry Pearce. And I used to work with him."

Her eyes went wide with surprise.

Lucien brushed over this little-known fact about his past. "Yes, well, because of our history, I know him pretty well and I know he's capable of something like this. If there's any chance that Michael Nesbit was involved with anything of note, there's every chance that he was killed by Harry."

Alice didn't quite know how to respond to that. "I'll call you when we get the samples back from the lab," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded and checked his watch. Just past five. He still had a bit of time before dinner. "Right. I'm going to head over to the station and talk to Lawson. See what they've found out. We've got a preliminary cause of death and time of death, I can give that to him while I'm there."

"Good luck," Alice said as he removed his white coat and put his suit jacket back on. She did not bother to chide him over the stupidity that was searching for a theory to fit a suspect, rather than the other way around. But Lucien was police surgeon, not her. She would conduct her tests and stay in the morgue where she belonged. Let him go out and make a fool of himself.

* * *

It took a bit of time for Ruth to properly convince Harry that they did actually need to find something to eat, even if it was a bit early for dinner. They'd been travelling and they'd been drinking. They needed some food in their bodies before they both passed out. The hotel served meals, but neither of them wanted to stay cooped up there, particularly with the police crawling around.

Ruth found Ballarat to be quite charming. It was an ordinary sort of place, a bit conservative and old-fashioned, but she enjoyed it for its simplicity. And she'd never been to Australia before, so the similarities to her beloved England with its subtle commonwealth idiosyncrasies were quite interesting to her.

Harry walked beside her and refrained from offering his arm, but he did watch her gaze around at the town with that distinct look of fascination on her face. This was also his first trip to Oz, as it was affectionately and perhaps stupidly known. But he wasn't nearly as enamored as Ruth. He'd travelled all over the world. One British colony was much like another, in many ways. There were certain things that the English simply refused to live without, no matter what the climate or native culture. Those things affected the outcome, of course, but no matter where he went in the Empire, he always knew how to find what he needed.

They found a small pub off the main road that was serving meals. It was crowded but not overly loud, and no one paid attention to the English man and woman who had just walked in. They stood somewhat awkwardly by the door, as there was a crowd by the bar and another by the dart board.

A middle-aged waitress was bustling around passing out pints to the dart players. She spotted the new customers. "There's tables in the back corner. Let me clear off one for you. And we just got menus printed, if you're hungry!" she shouted at them.

Harry gave a polite nod. "Yes, thank you," he called in response.

"We should head over there," Ruth suggested, gesturing to where the waitress was. They could just make her out through the throng.

"How do you propose we do that?" Harry asked her, annoyed by the people in his way who made no attempt to make way.

Ruth scoffed at his pessimism. "Just ask nicely." She began to try to navigate the crowd. "Pardon me, please," she said to no one in particular. Harry followed her slow progress.

One big, dirty-looking man pushed his mate out of the way. But as they made way, Ruth did not see the barrel used as a small table right in front of her. She tripped and yelped in surprise, but instead of tumbling over, a pair of strong hands grabbed her waist and pulled her back. She turned and found herself about two inches from Harry's face with her hands resting on his chest.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment. His hands holding her tight. His eyes dark as they gazed into hers. His lips full and plump and parted. His breath barely tickling her face. His heartbeat quickening under her palms.

Harry swallowed hard. Her hands were warm through his shirt. He watched Ruth's eyes flick down to his lips and back up into his eyes. She took a sharp inhale and seemed to almost lean forward.

"Here we are!"

The waitress's voice cut through the din and broke the spell. Ruth took her hands away as though she'd been burned and she extricated herself from Harry's grasp to practically run over to the table. Harry himself took a little more time, regaining his self-control as he went to sit down. Must have been all the scotch and travel. He'd be fine again after a steak pie, surely.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucien went right to the police station to deliver the initial findings of the autopsy to Lawson. He found the Chief Superintendent coming through the door with Charlie, on their way out.

"Ah, Blake, perfect timing. What can you tell us?" Matthew asked.

"Cause of death is strangulation. And Alice puts time of death at about one o'clock this afternoon," Lucien relayed.

"Alright, I assume you'll want to come with us, then," Matthew replied with a slight air of resignation.

"Come with you where?"

"Davis?"

Charlie immediately explained, "We searched Michael Nesbit's things. He had stub for a plane ticket in his bag from British Overseas Airways from two weeks ago, flight from London to Adelaide. There was a notebook found by the bed full of handwritten things that look like some kind of code. And he had a gun stashed under the bed."

"Lot of good that did him," Lucien noted sadly.

"And that Harry Pearce and his secretary arrived in the hotel at just past noon. If Nesbit died at one, that means he's a viable suspect," Charlie added.

Lawson nodded. "And what with the rest of the spook stuff we found? Your theory on Harry Pearce is looking pretty good, Lucien. So, you want to come with us to arrest him?"

A strange sense of glee filled him at that. He was right. He was bloody right. Harry Pearce had killed that young man, likely for some nefarious spy purpose. He must have followed Nesbit from London and traced him here to Ballarat. Whatever those codes were in that notebook, they must have something to do with it. And now he'd go take down that sorry sod of a man.

Lucien rode in the police car with Matthew and Charlie, though he stayed quiet, thinking. It had been so long since he'd given Harry Pearce a single thought. The man had absolutely no bearing on his life now. And yet today, he was all Lucien could think about. He'd sworn that if he ever saw Harry again, he'd break his jaw. Obviously he hadn't done that when he'd seen Harry in the bar, but he was close. If that secretary of his hadn't been there, Lucien wasn't sure what he would have done. And Harry was so bloody arrogant about it, too! Talking to him as though their last interactions weren't hideous and cruel. _Your discharge is effective immediately and if I ever see you in Hong Kong again, I'll kill you myself._ Those words had haunted Lucien for a long time after Harry, sitting in a hospital bed recovering from surgery on his leg, had quietly and terrifyingly spoken them. Yes, Lucien had disobeyed orders by letting their quarry escape, but Harry had been shot, and Lucien would not ever let another brother in arms die on his watch. He couldn't do it. He couldn't just leave him there. And when Harry passed out from the blood loss on the way to the safehouse, Lucien had gone right ahead and removed the bullet from his leg and patched him up as best he could before he could get to a hospital. And Harry not only fired him for it, he threatened him. Harry Pearce was a sad, bitter bastard, and if it weren't for Lucien's instincts as a doctor, he would have been glad to let the man die. It was what he deserved.

Charlie parked the car in front of the hotel and the three of them got out.

"Right, let's get this over with," Lawson grumbled. "Keep your eyes open. He's a spook, so be ready for anything."

Lucien was very ready for this.

* * *

Harry and Ruth had enjoyed a perfectly satisfactory pub dinner. Harry ordered himself another scotch to wash down his steak pie, while Ruth opted for a more suitable shandy. They had not spoken much during the meal, but that was quite usual for them. Public spaces were always strange for the pair of them together. Though even when they were in private, talking wasn't something they bothered with too often unless it was about work. The both of them were too well-trained to volunteer much personal information. And the way their relationship had gone lately, Harry was too worried he would say something to upset her again. Ruth, unbeknownst to Harry, was watching herself very carefully, lest she say something that might break his heart even more. She didn't mean to. It just seemed to be collateral damage most of the time.

They shared a similarly quiet walk back to the hotel after Harry paid the bill. He asked Ruth if she wanted to stay a while and watch the darts players, but she claimed she was tired. It was only just gone eight, but they'd had a long day. He did not mind accompanying her back to the hotel and calling it a night. It would be good to take a hot shower and wash the grime of travel off him. Maybe he could go to bed early and hopefully earn himself a dreamless sleep. Though that was very wishful thinking on his part.

All thoughts of an early night were quickly dashed, however. The police were at the hotel and waiting in the lobby as they arrived. Lucien Blake was with them, staring daggers at Harry.

Hoping to solve the situation without too much drama, Harry went right up to the older policeman. "Good evening, gentleman. Anything I can help you with?" Thankfully, the young constable he'd been so rude to earlier wasn't there, or this switch to politeness would not have been nearly so effective.

"You are Harry Pearce of the British Security Service, staying in this hotel in Room 317?" he asked.

"I am," Harry replied patiently.

The man nodded, and the younger sergeant took out handcuffs and announced, "Harry Pearce, you are under arrest for the murder of Michael Nesbit."

"Oh bollocks," Harry swore in annoyance.

Ruth, who to till this moment had demurred to Harry, marched right up with a fire in her expression that made him immensely proud. "I beg your pardon! On what grounds are you arresting him?" she demanded.

"Mr. Pearce will accompany us to the station for interview. We are not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation."

"What's your name?" she asked sharply.

"Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson, miss."

"You have the wrong man, Chief Superintendent. I can alibi Sir Harry all day," Ruth explained.

The chief superintendent then looked over at Lucien Blake. "Sir Harry?"

Dr. Blake just shook his head with wide, confused eyes.

Harry, who never took things like this as seriously as he should—though Ruth knew he was covering for his nerves with bravado like the good spook he was—chuckled lightly and said, "Yes, I've been knighted. Didn't have a title last time we saw each other, Lucien."

The younger policeman began to lead Harry away, but Ruth would not let this go. "Excuse me, I said I can alibi him! You've got no reason to charge him!"

"Were you with Sir Harry between twelve and one o'clock today?" Lawson asked her.

And that was when Ruth faltered. "We…we checked in at noon. We went to our separate rooms and then met up again a few hours later in the hotel bar."

"Was that when I ran into you?" Blake asked.

"Yes." Her voice had gone quiet then. Apparently she couldn't alibi Harry for that whole time. "But Harry didn't do this!" she shouted as they tried to lead him away.

Ruth continued to follow the three men as they put Harry into the back of the police car with the sergeant. Lawson and Blake sat in the front. Knowing how Blake felt about Harry, she was somewhat comforted that they wouldn't be seated side by side in a car while Harry was in handcuffs.

She clawed at the window of the car even as the engine started up. "I'll fix this, Harry!" she promised. "I'll figure this out!"

Harry responded, but she could not hear him. She could, however, read his lips. _I know you will_.


	7. Chapter 7

If Jean Beazley were a different sort of person, she might be breaking dishes and tearing her hair out by now. But since she wasn't that sort of person, she merely hummed to herself as she attempted to save two plates of dinners that were left uneaten.

Jean had sat alone for dinner that night. Mattie at least had done the courtesy of telling Jean she'd be out tonight. Lucien and Charlie, however, hadn't bothered to call or say a single word. But five o'clock went by. Six o'clock. Seven. And now it was after eight. Jean ate by herself and put away the plates she'd tried to keep warm for them. She did hate to waste food.

As she washed dishes, she wondered if she needed to be worried about Lucien. She often worried about him, knowing his penchant for reckless behavior. He'd been called about a body just after lunch. That was hours ago, now. It wasn't unusual for him to be out investigating and seeing to the autopsy with Alice and such, but wasn't it perhaps a bit late for all that? Where was he that he was out at this hour?

She turned off the sink and dried her hands, thinking. If Mattie was out for the night and Charlie was off with Lucien hunting down some mystery, Jean needed to find something to do with herself. Most days she spent by herself, but that was alright. There was always something to dust, laundry to get done, plants to tend to. She kept plenty busy during the day.

But the evenings, those were…for lack of a better term, those were for family time. Their little family, she and Lucien and Mattie and Charlie. They'd sometimes watch television. Or Mattie would discuss things in her books with Lucien. Jean would knit or work on some sewing while the wireless played. Lucien might pour her a sherry when the young people were out and it was just the two of them. And Jean loved those quiet, happy evenings she got to spend with their group of misfits living in the Blake house. It made it all a bit easier to bear.

That was the real trouble, Jean knew. She wanted to live in that fantasy that she and Lucien were more together than they had any right to be. Him with his scotch and medical journals. Her with her sherry and sewing box. Quietly discussing their days together. It was the sort of life Jean had always imagined for herself at this age. Of course, when she was a girl, she assumed she'd have done so much more in her life by the time she got to this stage. But after the adventures and travels and excitement, she had always wanted a warm home full of love. Somewhere quiet that she could share. She had once believed that it was Christopher who would give her all that, but even before he'd gone off to be killed in the war, Jean realized that Christopher Beazley was not the right man for that particular dream. Not any of her dreams, as it turned out. But Lucien, though. Lucien seemed made to fit that little fantasy. Which, of course, made it all the more tragic. The one man she wanted, the one man she believed in, the one man she wanted a future with…he was the one man she could never really have.

A knock at the front door interrupted Jean's maudlin musings. At this hour, who could possibly be calling? She smoothed her skirt and her hair with slight agitation as she hurried to the foyer.

There was a woman at the door. A woman in a very smart navy dress with nicely coiffed chestnut hair and a nervous pallor and intelligent pale blue eyes. A woman that Jean had never seen before. "Good evening," she greeted warily.

"Hello, is this where Lucien Blake lives?" the woman asked. She had an English accent, something that Jean found slightly jarring to hear.

"Yes, this is Dr. Blake's residence. But I'm afraid he isn't here at the moment," Jean told her.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Blake."

"No, I'm not Mrs. Blake," Jean corrected immediately, feeling slightly embarrassed for having done so. "I'm Mrs. Beazley, the housekeeper."

That made the woman pause. She was wringing her hands and furrowed her brow in consternation. Finally, she spoke again. "Could I come in, please?"

* * *

Ruth stood on the doorstep of the Blake house looking at a woman who looked nothing like any housekeeper she had ever seen before. Mrs. Beazley was slim and lovely, and she stood very tall and proud. In Ruth's experience, women in service positions tended to make themselves smaller. This Mrs. Beazley did nothing of the sort. And if this was the sort of woman who worked as Lucien Blake's housekeeper, she might be very useful indeed.

The housekeeper balked at Ruth's odd request but let her inside anyway. "Can I get you a cup of tea?" she offered. "I don't know when the doctor will be back, but I suppose you're welcome to wait."

Ruth followed her into the kitchen and said, "Oh I don't need to wait for him. I'd actually like to speak with you instead."

Now that certainly took the housekeeper by surprise. She stopped dead in her tracks, standing in the kitchen doorway and turning to face Ruth. "Why do you want to speak with me?"

"You're the housekeeper. You probably know him better than he knows himself."

The big turquoise-gray eyes of Mrs. Beazley widened at that remark, telling Ruth that she was spot on.

"I'm Ruth, by the way. Ruth Evershed. Personal assistant to Sir Harry Pearce," she said, realizing she'd practically barged into the house without introducing herself to the poor woman.

Mrs. Beazley gestured for Ruth to sit down and went around the kitchen to start the kettle. "I'm sorry," she said as she worked, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Sir Harry Pearce."

Ruth could not help but chuckle slightly at that. "I must say, that's quite refreshing. Most places I go, everyone knows Harry." Her causal use of Harry's name slipped out before she could stop herself. Hopefully Mrs. Beazley wouldn't think anything of it. It was too exhausting to keep up the professional façade all the bloody time, particularly here where no one knew her or Harry and no one bloody cared about them at all. "So I take it Lucien hasn't been home this afternoon?" she asked.

"No," Mrs. Beazley replied dubiously.

It was then that Ruth realized she'd have to do more here than she'd planned. She sighed, "Well, I may as well tell you as much as I can. I don't like gossiping or talking out of turn, but seeing as your boss has just had my boss arrested, I don't see much other option."

"I beg your pardon!?"

"Apparently Harry and Lucien worked together in Hong Kong." Ruth paused, waiting to see if there was any reaction to that. She knew enough of Harry's history to be rightfully taken aback when he'd mentioned Hong Kong, but this Mrs. Beazley did not seem to have the same recognition. Interesting. Ruth continued, "I'll also tell you that Harry and I work for the Security Service. And Lucien was a member of Harry's team after the war."

A wry smile crossed Mrs. Beazley's face as she poured the tea. How curious. "Oh is that what he was up to?" she asked.

Ruth wasn't quite sure how to take that. Best to press on. "They had a falling out of sorts. And all I know is that Lucien doesn't like Harry much."

"He doesn't have much good feeling towards the English," Mrs. Beazley said delicately.

"Most people don't."

"So why has Lucien arrested your Harry?" she asked.

Ruth desperately wished that her stomach didn't flip when she heard Harry being referred to as 'hers' but that was a problem for another time. "A man in the hotel where we're staying was killed shortly after Harry and I arrived. We went to our separate rooms and then met a while later in the bar. And during the time we were apart, the man was killed. And Lucien thinks Harry did it. And he's been arrested."

"And you say he didn't do it?"

"I don't want to shock you, but Harry's killed loads of people. He's been a soldier and a spy his whole life, and he's a good man. I know it doesn't seem like it, and I'm sure Lucien will tell you different. But I know Harry. I'd bet that I know Harry the way you know Lucien. And I know Harry didn't do this," Ruth said, hearing herself sound a bit desperate. There wasn't anything she could do for it. Perhaps she'd blame it on the travel exhaustion or the afternoon of drinking down gin and tonics.

Mrs. Beazley was quiet, studying Ruth's face for a moment. "If I may ask you one thing, Miss Evershed," she began.

"Please call me Ruth. And you can ask me anything you like." _I might not answer, but you can ask_, Ruth thought to herself.

"Ruth, why are you here?"

That wasn't really what Ruth had imagined being asked, but she answered it. "Well, I came to talk to Lucien…"

"No," Mrs. Beazley interrupted. "I mean in Ballarat. This isn't the sort of place anyone from the British Security Service ever bothers with. And Sir Harry Pearce sounds rather important. We don't get many knights of the realm in our little town, let alone one who's a spy. And then a man dies in the hotel just after you arrive? Seems an awful coincidence if your Harry didn't do it."

Ruth realized that had very much underestimated this Mrs. Beazley.


	8. Chapter 8

Jean wasn't sure if she was excited or annoyed. She, like Lucien, did not have fond feelings toward the English. Australian men signed up in droves to support King and Empire in the War, and that Empire had all but abandoned its soldiers in the Pacific. Such things could not be so easily forgotten, not for Lucien Blake who had been abandoned when Singapore fell, nor for Jean Beazley who had lost her husband in that massacre in the Solomons.

But this lovely young woman sitting in front of Jean now, she was the personal secretary for a real live spook. A spy working for the British government. Jean was enthralled by the investigations that Lucien got up to, but whatever this Ruth Evershed had experienced was so much bigger than anything Jean had ever imagined.

And not only was Ruth's position fascinating, there was something about the woman herself that Jean found herself endeared by. The way Ruth spoke was full of intelligence and kindness. And the way she spoke about this Sir Harry Pearce, whoever he was…well, Jean could recognize loyalty and devotion a mile away. As Ruth proclaimed Harry's innocence, Jean could not help but see herself in this woman. Yes, Ruth Evershed was younger and more accomplished and better educated and far more worldly than Jean had ever been. But Jean could not deny that if Lucien was wrongfully arrested, she would be begging for his freedom just as Ruth was for Harry's now.

Ruth's eyes flickered with surprise when Jean had asked her what she and Harry were doing in Ballarat, but she recovered quickly and answered, "We were tasked to do a tour of military stations of the commonwealth."

That story rang a bit hollow to Jean's ears, and she wondered whether to press Ruth for more information. "Does the Security Service usually send such senior people for such tasks? I assume Sir Harry, with that title, has a rather important position."

"Well, no, but this is a special circumstance," Ruth replied, chewing on her lip.

"Special in that it's a cover for an assassination of that man in the hotel?"

Inexplicably, Ruth's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile. "No, nothing like that. I would kill Harry myself if he dragged me all this way for something like that. Besides, Harry doesn't do things like that anymore."

"I think that still leaves my original question. Why are _you_ here?" Jean asked. She took a sip of her tea to keep from giving a wry smirk. It wasn't often that Jean herself was consulted about matters of import by anyone except Lucien. And this Ruth Evershed was a relative stranger who would, hopefully, go back to England and never return. Jean's normally impeccable manners were less important than usual, and she wanted to take proper advantage.

Ruth sighed with almost a huff of annoyance. "Harry and I were on suspension after an incident, and the review board couldn't fire us, so we've been sent here as something of a punishment. That's what Harry says, anyway. And I think he's right. He's sent all the way to Australia to do a task that's far below his station to punish him for what he did, and I was sent with him to punish me."

Jean's eyes went a bit wide at that. The curiosity was eating her up inside. "What did he do?"

Poor Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her chair and stared into her teacup. "He saved my life at the expense of some top secret things I can't even begin to talk about, and I didn't thank him for it."

That phrasing was odd to Jean's ear. "You didn't thank him for saving you?"

Ruth looked up, desperation painted in her expression. "Harry nearly sacrificed national security because he couldn't bear to sacrifice me. And I…"

The front door opened and Lucien called out Jean's name. She could have killed him for his terrible timing. Hearing Ruth's story about whatever had happened between her and Harry was more riveting than any novel Jean had ever read and she desperately wanted to know the rest. But alas, Lucien had come blundering about. "In the kitchen!" she called out to him.

* * *

Ruth was thanking God for the first time in twenty years when Lucien interrupted her. She'd very nearly said too much to Mrs. Beazley. There was just something so kind and warm and strangely familiar about the housekeeper. Ruth felt oddly at ease with her. She was at once a mother and a best friend and a teacher all wrapped up in one, the sort of person who could be trusted. Ruth did not meet many people like that in her line of work. But she had no business going about telling people things that were best kept locked up deep in her heart. So thank God for Lucien Blake.

The man himself came blustering into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Ruth sitting there. "Oh. It's you," he said in recognition.

"Yes," Ruth replied simply, standing up to shake the man's hand. It was only polite.

Lucien shook himself slightly and came to greet her. "You're Harry's secretary…I'm sorry I don't recall your name."

"Ruth Evershed," she told him. "It's nice to officially meet you, Doctor Blake. Have you let Harry go yet?"

He faltered at that. "I…no. I'm sorry, he's been put in the holding cell at the police station. You can visit him in the morning."

Jean interjected at that point. "Lucien, Ruth here says that her Harry is innocent. Why have the police got him in the holding cell?"

Lucien sat down at the table, looking defeated in every regard. Ruth sat back down as well. Jean, however, stood up and made a fresh pot of tea. Lucien scrubbed his face with his hands. "Well, it seems that I was quite convincing with the police in my suspicions of Harry Pearce that they're rather sure he's the murderer, and they're waiting to get a confession out of him and to gather more evidence."

"But you're not convinced anymore?" Ruth asked, noticing the tone and wording he used.

"No. From what Harry said in interview and my examinations of the crime scene and the body, I don't think Harry had anything to do with the death of Michael Nesbit," Lucien said. Jean put a teacup in front of him and he briefly thanked her before turning back to Ruth. "I'm very sorry, Miss Evershed."

Ruth had to sigh at that. "From speaking to Mrs. Beazley, I've become quite aware of the appearance of all this. If I were you, I'd have suspected Harry, too. But what made you change your mind?"

Jean sat back down, leaning forward to listen to what Lucien had to say. Ruth glanced at her and took careful note of the way she looked at him. And the way he seemed to practically gravitate toward her the moment she was near. This was a dynamic with which Ruth was infuriatingly familiar.

Lucien began to tell them about the long interview with Harry, explaining, "It just doesn't add up. I was a bit caught up, I'll admit, with what I know if Harry from all those years ago. But it's been twelve years since I've seen the man. A lot changes in twelve years. And I saw it in that interview room, sitting across from him. He's—I don't know how to describe it—softer, I suppose. When I knew him, he was fierce and gruff and quietly brilliant. And he was this solid mass of pure muscle. A bulldozer wouldn't have knocked him over. And I might be a head taller than he is, but he always made me feel a bit small."

Ruth nodded knowingly. She'd only ever known Harry after Lucien had, and she'd always felt that way about him. Harry Pearce wasn't a large man, but he had a bulk that he carried quiet well and a gravitas about him that always commanded respect.

"But he's different now," Lucien explained. "A lot of that fight's gone out of him. I don't doubt he could still do plenty, and there's still that undercurrent of danger about him, but he just seems so drawn and tired compared to the man I knew. The man I knew would not have hesitated to beat a man in the face and then curl a single hand around his neck and squeeze till the breathing and heartbeat had stopped. But this Harry…I don't know how to explain it, really, but he wouldn't do that."

There was a lightness that Ruth felt wash over her at Lucien's words. The frustration she'd felt about the man's obvious bias against Harry had been soothed away. Lucien Blake was an extremely clever and observant man. Not just anyone would have known to notice those things about Harry. Lucien Blake understood Harry in a way that Ruth knew that she did without a doubt but also in a way that few other people ever had.

"That's what Ruth told me," Jean added. "She said he wouldn't do this."

Lucien nodded to Jean and turned back to Ruth. "And I'm so sorry, Ruth. If I can call you Ruth."

"Yes, of course, Doctor."

"Lucien," he insisted with a small smile.

Ruth herself nodded. "Well then, Lucien, now that you believe that Harry is innocent, what are we going to do to get him out of that holding cell?"

If anyone found it odd that Ruth used the collective 'we,' they didn't mention it. And it was just as well. Ruth would stop at nothing to clear Harry's name. He'd rescued her a million times over, it seemed. And now it was her turn to rescue him. With the help of Lucien Blake.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite the late hour, Lucien wanted to get right to work. He knew that in order to prove Harry's innocence, they'd need to find out who actually killed Michael Nesbit. And unfortunately, Lucien did not know nearly enough about the man. He sat in the kitchen with Jean and Ruth and laid out what little they did know.

"He flew from London to Adelaide two weeks ago. There was an airline ticket stub found in his bag. And the hotel said he checked in yesterday. He spent one night there before he was killed at about lunchtime today," he said.

"So what's he done in Ballarat during the twenty-four hours he was here?" Jean asked astutely.

Lucien nodded with appreciation for her analytical clarity as always. He turned to Ruth. "You got into town today. As a visitor, what did you do upon arriving?"

"Well, Harry and I went to our rooms and then met down in the hotel bar after the police came knocking. We wanted to stay out of the way. And then we went to a pub nearby for dinner," she said.

"That hotel serves meals," Jean pointed out. "What made you leave?"

"We didn't want to stay cooped up in the hotel all day and night, so we went looking for somewhere else to eat," Ruth replied.

Lucien could tell she didn't much like having to explain every reason for every little thing she'd done over the last few hours, but it was a useful exercise, using her and Harry as proxies for what a visitor to Ballarat may have done. It would be a place to start in figuring out what Michael Nesbit was doing in Ballarat, where he'd gone, and who he'd encountered.

"Right then," Lucien said resolutely. "What's say we head back to that pub and see if anyone remembers Nesbit being there yesterday and if he spoke to anyone." He stood up from the table and offered a hand to Ruth. "Care to join me?"

She smiled and let him help her up from the chair. "I'd like that, thank you."

The two of them headed out into the night after quickly thanking Jean for the tea. Neither of them noticed the expression on her face as she was left alone in the kitchen.

Lucien and Ruth walked through town to the pub where she and Harry had been earlier. On the way, Ruth asked Lucien about Ballarat and his time there. He found it rather pleasant to talk to a relative stranger about his past and his life. There was no judgement from Ruth. She was genuinely interested and had none of the preconceived notions about him like the rest of Ballarat always seemed to have. Talking to Ruth was a very pleasant experience, and Lucien could imagine how Harry Pearce might appreciate an intelligent, loyal, unassuming woman as his personal secretary.

They arrived at the pub and it was quite crowded. Rather than searching for a table, Lucien led Ruth right to the bar. The bartender would likely be the best person to speak to, though with the number of patrons, he'd perhaps be too busy to answer their questions now.

"I'll go over and order. Shandy for you?" he asked.

Ruth hesitated in a manner that told him quite clearly that she did_ not_ want a shandy, but she nodded to him anyway.

Lucien left her at the end of the bar as he made his way among the crowd to get closer to the bartender.

"What can I get for you, Doc?"

It wasn't till that moment that Lucien realized the bartender was Sid Lowry, a patient of his. "Can I get a lager and a shandy, please, Sid?" he asked, having to speak a bit louder than he normally would have liked.

Sid nodded and got to pouring the drinks. He handed two glasses to Lucien, who slid the money towards the bartender in return. "By the way, did you happen to see a newcomer in the bar last night? Early twenties, might have been English? Name of Michael Nesbit."

"I might have done. I don't quite recall. You got a picture?"

Lucien had to smile slightly. Every so often he encountered people in Ballarat who understood him, who wanted to be helpful and were unsuspicious of his questions. "Why don't I come in tomorrow when there's less rush, and I'll bring a picture."

"You got it, Doc."

"Thanks, Sid." And just for his assistance, Lucien left a tip on the bar.

Lucien made his way back to where Ruth was waiting, but unfortunately, she was not alone. There was a man, quite intoxicated by the look of him, who was standing a bit too close for politeness.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ruth. Everything alright?" Lucien asked cautiously, putting the drinks down on the bar beside them.

Ruth had an expression of barely-contained annoyance on her face. "Yes, this is David, and he was just leaving."

The man gave a very drunken wheezy laugh. "Come on now, girlie, you don't want me to go. We're just getting acquainted."

"No, I don't think we were," Ruth replied. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I'd prefer if you left my companion and I alone now."

The man—David—just laughed again and reached out to Ruth. She slapped his hand away. Lucien didn't pause a moment before his fist collided with the man's jaw.

* * *

Too many times in recent months had Harry Pearce given in to despair. It was becoming quite the unfortunate habit. But what good was there resisting when he was sitting in a jail cell in some useless town in Australia?

This whole thing was utterly ridiculous. He'd been arrested and interviewed for hours. All thanks to Lucien bloody Blake. Through the police questioning, Harry figured he couldn't quite blame Blake. Blake knew who Harry was and what he did. And two British spooks show up and the man in the hotel room next to his gets brutally murdered? It was extremely suspicious to be sure. He had told the police exactly what he had done every moment he'd been in his hotel room when Michael Nesbit had been killed, that he hadn't heard anything or seen anyone or noticed anything at all. He'd been a bit preoccupied with Ruth being angry at him. And he was in a hotel in Ballarat! He wasn't exactly on highest guard. No, he didn't know Michael Nesbit. No, he did not know why he might have been killed. No, he was not aware the man had recently traveled to Australia from London. No, he did not that Nesbit had a gun under his bed. But despite all those answers and however many times Harry proclaimed his innocence, no one seemed to care.

Well, one person cared. Ruth had promised him she'd find a way to figure this all out. And Harry trusted her. Beyond all else in this world, Harry trusted in Ruth. And it comforted him to know that despite their personal concerns at the present, she would still try to find a way to help him. Though it was her job, and Ruth would never shirk her duty. That was always part of the problem.

As he sat in his despair on the small cot in the holding cell, Harry thought of Ruth and how he wished he could speak to her now. He knew her so well, yet he could never really predict how she'd react in any given situation. Would she offer him sympathy and kindness, holding his hand and encouraging him despite the situation? Or would she get that flinty look in her eyes as she chastised him over his stupidity for goading the police and that Lucien Blake? Either felt equally possible now. Ruth had that way about her, of always guiding him where he needed to go. When he made selfish choices, she acted as his moral compass to feel the remorse that would make him better. When he was beaten down low, she acted as his rock and supporter to buoy his spirits. He needed both of those things now.

And after all this time, why hadn't she come to see him? What was detaining her? Did she want to get back at him for dragging her into all of this? No, Ruth wasn't vindictive like that. Ruth was better than that.

Then why was she keeping away from him? Why did she leave him all alone like this? And why did Harry feel like all this was somehow exactly what he deserved?


	10. Chapter 10

"Jean?"

She looked up from her knitting and frowned in confusion upon hearing Lucien call her name. The front door had opened, and Jean went to see what it was he needed. "Back already?" she asked, seeing both Lucien and Ruth walk inside. "You only left half an hour ago."

"We had a bit of a problem," Ruth said vaguely. "Have you got some ice?"

Such a request slightly galled Jean. But she wasn't in the friendliest mood at the moment. "What do you need ice for?" she asked coldly.

Lucien held up his right hand, which was looking slightly odd. "For my hand," he answered, bitterness dripping from his tone.

That made Jean spring into action. "Go sit at your desk. I'll get everything from the surgery. Ruth, could you help me, please?" Jean certainly didn't need Ruth's help, but she also didn't want Ruth and Lucien to be alone together for a second longer.

Ruth followed Jean into the kitchen. Jean handed her a thin towel and filled it with ice from the box. "I'll take this to Lucien," she offered.

Jean hesitated, but she knew she couldn't refuse the reasonable next step. Besides, it would only take her a few seconds to collect the bandages and antiseptic from the surgery. "Yes, thank you. Make sure he holds it over the whole hand. He should know, but remind him," Jean instructed.

"Well, he is a doctor," Ruth pointed out.

"Yes," Jean replied, "But more than that, this isn't the first time he's needed to be patched up after punching someone."

Ruth got a funny sort of look on her face at that but said nothing. Jean followed her out of the kitchen and pointed her to Lucien's study. She herself went to the surgery to gather what she needed.

With a bowl of antiseptic and some gauze in her hands, Jean went right into Lucien's office. She did her best not to notice the way Ruth stood near him with a look of concern on her face. Lucien, thankfully, did not seem to notice.

"Alright, who was it this time?" Jean asked.

Lucien gave a rueful smile as he took the ice off his knuckles and offered it to Jean for her inspection. "A man in the pub was giving Ruth a hard time, so I knocked him off her," he explained.

Jean glanced up at Ruth, concern outweighing her other feelings in that moment. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," Ruth assured her. "I've been harassed by much worse in my time. Though it's not every day a man defends your honor with his fist."

There was a look in Ruth's face that Jean could not entirely discern. It looked a bit like pride, that Ruth was flattered and pleased by Lucien's actions. But there was more than that. Was that…disappointment? Distrust? It wasn't a positive emotion at all.

Lucien continued, "I don't like seeing behavior like that. You were with me, and if a man doesn't respect that a woman is spoken for, he deserves a punch to the face."

"Spoken for?" Ruth asked in slight shock.

"Well, I was bringing you a drink and it was clear you were with me. But that didn't seem to faze the man one bit," he added.

Jean could not look at either of them anymore. In a fit of pique, she pressed the antiseptic on his scraped knuckles with just slightly more force than she otherwise would. Lucien hissed with the sting of it, and she instantly regretted it. "Sorry," she murmured, going back much more gently. Jean did not look up at Ruth again.

* * *

Ruth watched in fascination as Jean and Lucien interacted. She had not spent too much time around people with their housekeepers, but she could not imagine they behaved like this.

Jean had such a direct, efficient, yet kindly manner about her. She held Lucien's enormous hand in her smaller one. Her hands were lovely, actually. She worked with her hands, Ruth assumed, doing the cooking and cleaning and such, but Jean's nails were perfectly polished in a very proper red, and her fingers were quite elegant. And the way Jean applied the antiseptic to clean the meagre wounds was so tender. Ruth had made it her duty to observe and to make connections in her work with Harry, to always see and understand more than what anyone expected of her. And as she watched Jean wrap Lucien's hand and gently press the ice to it, Ruth almost expected her to press her lips to his fingers and smile. Such was the affection surrounding her simple actions.

What was just as interesting was watching Lucien respond to Jean's ministrations. Most people, when being administered first aid attention, would watch their injury and what the caretaker was doing. But Lucien did not look at his hand and what Jean did to assist. No, his eyes were fixed on Jean's face. He had such a softness in his gaze. His blue eyes sparkled. His lips were slightly parted almost in awe, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in the barest hint of a smile. Ruth had never seen a man look at a woman like that, except perhaps Humphrey Bogart looking at Lauren Bacall in the movies. There was a kind of magic in that look, like he did not want to look away now that he'd seen her.

It took Ruth a moment to realize where she'd seen that look before, not in films but in real life. And then she felt rather silly for not knowing immediately. She'd seen that look so many times. More times than she could count. But she wasn't used to a man looking like that to another woman. She was used to looking up from her desk and glancing over to Harry and seeing him looking at her just like that.

A guilty knot settled in the pit of her stomach. How could she let herself be so stupid? How could she let so much time and so many opportunities pass her by? How could she spend every day with Harry, knowing that he had looked at her the way Lucien was looking at Jean now, and pushing him aside? And why oh why had she spent so much of her life being less happy than she could have been?

Ruth had known for quite a while but had very resolutely refused to accept or acknowledge that she and Harry were meant to be together. There had always felt like too many things in their way. He was her boss. Their work put them face to face with the absolute worst of humanity. Every other day, it seemed, people around them were dying for their country. There was just one emergency after another, day in and day out. Personal concerns felt shallow and hollow in the face of all of that. And then there was everything that had happened with Juliet and with George. After all that, there hadn't been a path back to the promise of where they'd started. And then, of course, with Albany, everything seemed to be shattered.

But why was that? Why had Ruth been so absolutely convinced that things with Harry were hopeless and foolish? Standing in Lucien Blake's study, watching him moon over his housekeeper as she bandaged his hand, Ruth could not quite recall the exact reasons she had for refusing Harry time and time again.

An ache bloomed from her guilt, a desperate clawing feeling, and she felt as though it could only be cured if she went to see Harry. But the hour was growing late and there was nothing more to do till the morning. Harry was in jail. Ruth was at a loss. And even as she felt some clarity come over her, like daylight after living so long in darkness, Ruth was struck by the fact that she honestly had no idea what she was going to do.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hello?"

"In the study, Mattie," Lucien called, hearing their young lodger arrive home. "Hang on, we'll meet you in the living room." He turned to Ruth and Jean, neither of whom was looking very happy. "I think we could all use a drink," he said.

When they arrived in the parlor, they found both Charlie and Mattie waiting for them. "Charlie saw me walking home and was kind enough to offer me a lift," she explained.

"Good man, Charlie. How's everything going on the case?" Lucien asked, pouring himself a drink. He offered to both Jean and Ruth, but they declined.

Charlie did not answer right away, staring at Ruth extremely suspiciously. "Uh…Doc…"

"Oh I'm terribly sorry. Charlie, Mattie, this is Ruth Evershed. Ruth, this is Charlie Davis, police sergeant, and Mattie O'Brien, district nurse and social worker. They're lodgers here," Lucien explained.

Ruth gave a tight-lipped smile and said a quiet, "Hello."

"Lucien, what's happened to your hand?" Mattie asked, seeing the bandages.

"What do you think happened? He got in a fight," Jean chided.

"It wasn't so much a fight as it was Lucien knocking a man out and then rushing me out of the pub," Ruth added.

Mattie's eyes went wide at that. "What happened!?"

Lucien was getting a bit tired of telling the story. He sat in his armchair and took a sip of scotch before giving a truncated version of events. "Ruth and I went to the Red Lion to ask some questions, and before we could do anything, a man was bothering her and not taking no for an answer. And when he wouldn't leave her alone after I asked him to and then tried to paw at her, I punched him. It's not really a very exciting story."

Charlie frowned. "Doc, you can't be seen in the pub with the girlfriend of a spook we've got in a holding cell."

"And punching men out over it!" Mattie added. "Wait, hang on, what's this about a spook?"

Lucien was about to groan in annoyance over the whole bloody thing, but thankfully Charlie explained, "The man who was killed at the hotel today, we arrested a man who works for the British Security Service. And Ruth Evershed is his…"

"She's Harry's personal secretary," Lucien clarified.

"Well I can't say anything about the case in front of her," Charlie said.

But Lucien was having none of that. "Nonsense. Harry's innocent. Ruth and I are working on finding a way to get him set free. And there's no use waiting till she's gone to tell me things. I'll just tell it all to her later. So out with it, Charlie, where are we?"

Charlie finally admitted defeat. Though nowadays it wasn't too difficult to get him to agree to Lucien's whims. The boy was still rather guilty over everything with Munro. Lucien may have been taking advantage, but it was all for a good cause. An innocent man was sitting in a jail cell, after all.

"Mr. Pearce is still denying everything," he began.

"Sir Harry," Ruth interjected.

"What?"

"His proper title is Sir Harry. Not Mr. Pearce. He's a knight of the realm." Her face went a little bit pink when she said that, though her expression remained quite stony. My, what an interesting woman this Ruth Evershed was turning out to be, Lucien thought to himself.

Charlie continued, "Right, well, Sir Harry just kept repeating the same story over and over. He and Miss Evershed arrived at the hotel at about noon. They went to their separate rooms. Sir Harry unpacked his bag and remained alone in his room until Ned knocked on his door to question him about the murder, at which point he refused to answer questions and went down to the hotel bar. But the thing is, he can't seem to say what he was doing in his room alone for two hours between when he checked in and when Ned came knocking. He wasn't reading or writing or doing anything. He just keeps saying he was doing nothing. And the boss doesn't like that answer, especially after what the Doc said about Sir Harry's background."

Lucien did not wait for Mattie to ask what Harry's background was. That was a discussion for another time. Instead, he turned to Ruth. "So what was Harry doing in his room when he says he was doing nothing?"

A small smirk appeared on her very pretty lips. "Nothing," Ruth said. "And it's true. He does that sometimes. He's been having a difficult time recently because of…well, me, actually. And he goes quiet sometimes. He likes to put on a classical record and drink scotch and sit and think. I know he didn't get any scotch till he went down to the bar and I know he hasn't got any records in his hotel room, but I would not have put it past Harry to be alone in a room and pace or stare out the window and just let his thoughts ruminate for a while. He loses track of time sometimes. It probably only felt like twenty minutes to him."

"And what about you, Ruth?" Lucien then asked, not having any real follow-up to what she'd said about Harry. Lucien had known Harry Pearce a long time ago, and while the man he knew was much more hardened and ruthless than the man he'd questioned, he had no trouble believing that Harry could wile away the time lost in thought. Lucien himself had that tendency. But he turned his attention back to Ruth. "What were you up to during the nearly two hours between when you arrived in your hotel room and when you went down to find Harry in the bar?"

Ruth frowned. "I was unpacking. And I was writing notes about our trip thus far. As Harry's secretary, I keep a diary of his official schedule and activities."

"And what did you write in that diary?"

"I wrote the time we got off the bus and the name of our hotel."

"That's not much to write during an ninety minutes," Lucien pressed.

"As I said, I was unpacking. I freshened up a bit. Took off my shoes. Had a lie down," Ruth answered.

Lucien nodded, hopefully indicating, as he intended, that he was finished interrogating her. "And you didn't hear or see anyone in the hall? No noise coming from Michael Nesbit's room?"

She paused for a moment, thinking. "I heard men's voices. Couldn't make out what they were saying. But they sounded displeased. I can't say they came from Nesbit's room. But that's the only thing I heard at all until the police came around."

"Can I take your statement at the station tomorrow?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, that would be fine. What time?"

"I can drive you in with me in the morning after breakfast," he offered.

"About nine, then?" she asked. "I'll want to be waiting in the lobby of the hotel."

Lucien interrupted at that. "Nonsense. It's late. Ruth, you stay here tonight. I'll take you to your hotel in the morning so you can get washed and dressed, and we can go to the station together. I want to take another look at Michael Nesbit's things."

* * *

And apparently that was all there was to it. The young nurse excused herself first for the evening, and Jean noted that it was getting quite late. The policeman and Lucien both bid her goodnight and went their separate ways. Jean told Ruth to follow her.

"The bathroom is down the hall to the left," she said, "and you'll be staying in this room in the back of the house. We don't use this guest room much, so if you'll just give me a minute, I can get some fresh sheets for you."

"Oh no, don't go to any trouble," Ruth protested. She already felt like she was intruding just being here.

"It's no trouble," Jean told her gently. "It won't take me a moment. And in the meantime, there should be soap and clean towels in the bathroom if you want to wash up. Oh, actually, let me go ask Mattie if she's got an extra set of pajamas. You two are about the same size, I think."

Ruth could not even try to tell Jean not to go to the trouble before the housekeeper was out the door. Ruth was left alone in the guest room, which really was quite lovely. It was off in the back of the house, far away from most everything else. There was a window that presumably looked out into the back garden, though it was pitch black out so nothing could be seen. Ruth went to close the curtains and by then, Jean was back.

"Here you are. I hope you don't mind the set. It's all Mattie had. As she reminded me, I have to do the washing tomorrow."

Ruth gave a kind smile, thanking her and taking the pajamas down the hall to the bathroom. Another very nice, clean room. Nicer than the hotel, even.

The pajamas fit perfectly. Ruth usually preferred a nightgown, but just taking off her foundation garments and unrolling her stockings to put on light cotton was such a relief. Ruth was not the sort of woman who put too much stock in fashion or things like that. She preferred dark colors that let her fade into the background. The love she once had for patterns and colors had died along with most of her dreams many years ago. Now, all Ruth wanted to do was go through life being unobserved and left in peace. Which was a rare occurrence for her.

Jean was just finishing tucking in the new sheets on the bed when Ruth returned. "Thank you so much for everything," Ruth said, putting her clothes on the chair in the corner and hurrying over to help pull up the duvet.

"You're welcome," Jean replied politely.

"You really do have a very lovely home."

Jean shook her head modestly. "It's the doctor's home. I'm just the housekeeper."

"Yes, but I have no doubt that you're the reason the house is a home to all of you," Ruth said knowingly.

A strange look appeared on Jean's face for only a moment, some flicker of recognition that nearly made her say something else. But Jean just gave a kind smile.

"I think you and Lucien are very lucky to have each other."

That was obviously a step too far, and Ruth knew it. But Jean just gave a curt nod, bidding Ruth a goodnight and closing the door behind her as she left the room. Ruth sighed to herself and got into bed. Despite how exhausted she was in every single respect, she did not think that sleep would come easily this night.


	12. Chapter 12

Jean was up early, despite having been up late the night before. That often happened when Lucien had a complicated case. The whole house liked to stay up and assist him whenever possible. It was certainly one of the more exciting things about living with Lucien. Jean herself preferred when she could be alone with Lucien during such times, when they could sit in the quiet and feed off each other's ideas and come to a solution. It was all she wanted, really, to be a valued partner to him. She knew he appreciated all she did, even if he did not have occasion to mention it very often. But Jean had so little of Lucien that it was sometimes difficult to share him.

And in one evening, Jean had shared Lucien quite a lot. Ruth Evershed, who Lucien insisted stay in the house, had come to seek assistance exonerating her boss. And Lucien was now utterly smitten with the woman, as far as Jean could tell. She was young and pretty and brilliant. Perhaps a bit quieter than Jean might have imagined Lucien would enjoy, but perhaps she'd livened up at the pub where Lucien had hit a man to defend her. Jean had done everything in her power to keep herself kind and civil, and hopefully she'd carried it off well. Lucien had not noticed, but he never did notice these things when it came to himself. And Jean hated herself for this pointless jealousy. She had no claim over Lucien, she knew, and Ruth was a perfectly lovely woman. Jean had liked her upon their first meeting. Jean still liked her, regardless of this ridiculous envy.

While Jean pondered all these thoughts, she made breakfast for Charlie and Mattie, both of whom had to rush out the door for their shifts. Lucien came downstairs and asked where Ruth was, twisting the knife in Jean's chest.

"I haven't seen her yet this morning. You have your tea and I'll go see if everything's alright," Jean told him.

She went down the hall to the guest room in the back. There wasn't any light coming from under the door. Jean knocked gently.

Inside, a muffled groan sounded. "Come in," came a gravely voice.

Jean went into the room and closed the door behind her for Ruth's privacy. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No, that's alright. I'm awful about waking up. I need three alarms to get me up usually. I didn't find one in here, so I didn't set one." Ruth yawned and sat up, stretching her arms above her head. Her hair was all over the place and she looked quite rumpled and sleepy. The whole effect was quite endearing.

"Did you sleep alright?" Jean asked.

"Eventually, yes. All of this with Harry is just…I couldn't seem to get my mind to quiet down," Ruth told her.

That sparked a thought in Jean's mind. "You mentioned something about that last night."

"About what? Harry?"

"Yes. You said he'd been having a difficult time recently because of you."

A very sad smile appeared on Ruth's face. "Yes, he has."

"I don't mean to pry but…"

"No, it's alright. I think you of all people might understand."

Jean frowned at that. "Oh?"

"Would you like to sit down? It's not a very long story, but it is a bit complicated."

Never one to turn down an interesting tale, Jean came to sit on the edge of the bed. Lucien could wait a bit longer for his breakfast.

Ruth began to tell her story. "Harry and I started out as nothing. He hired me as one of a number of secretaries in his office. But my background made me uniquely useful in some of the more sensitive parts of Harry's job. After about two years, I became his personal secretary. I thought the world of him. Still do. He's got this very stupid and sarcastic sense of humor that I've always liked. And he's full of integrity. It's rare, in government work, to find a truly good man. It's almost nonexistent in the Security Service. And Harry is a good man. He's thoughtful and he works very hard to make difficult decisions that save lives."

Jean marveled at the way Ruth spoke about this man. It was more than what Jean had first thought the night before, that Ruth was loyal and devoted to her employer. She truly cared for this Harry. She may have even loved him.

"Anyway," Ruth continued, "Harry and I worked very closely together. And he asked me out to dinner once. On a date. I didn't really know he thought of me that way, but apparently he did." She paused with a little smile on her face at the memory which quickly faded. "But then the next day, there were rumors everywhere and people asking me questions and it was absolutely awful. I didn't want to put my job in danger or Harry's reputation. So I broke it off with him and desperately tried to find another man to occupy me and to dispel the rumors that Harry and I had anything between us."

"If neither of you were married, was there anything so wrong with you being together?" Jean asked. She could understand if, like herself, Ruth had gotten pregnant before married and had to suffer the shame of that. It was quite another thing when it was just a man falling in love with his secretary. Such things happened all the time, didn't they?

Ruth shook her head. "Harry's divorced. He's got two grown children. And I guess I'm something of a spinster by now. But I've just never been very good with people talking about me. I'm a personal secretary, you see. It isn't in me to be noticed. Actually, my job is quite the opposite. I fade into the background and take notes and observe and I try not to have anyone see me."

"But Harry sees you, doesn't he?" Jean could not help herself. She could see where this story was going. And the tragedy of it all. Two people who were in love and too afraid to do anything about it.

Ruth, however, surprised Jean again. "Harry does see me. And he's always cared for me. Loved me, even. And I just…I didn't want anything to change between us. I couldn't bear if things didn't work out and I had to leave my job or something like that. So when I met George, I probably moved a bit too fast."

"George?"

"He was a doctor I met when I visited one of Harry's officers who'd been injured in the line of duty. George was handsome and kind and he treated me well. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. I think it broke Harry's heart when I told him. He tried to be happy for us. But then George and I were kidnapped and held as ransom against Harry to make him give up state secrets."

"Goodness!" Jean exclaimed. And she thought life with Lucien was exciting! At least she'd never been kidnapped!

Ruth swallowed hard. Whatever memory she had was clearly very painful. "George was killed. Because of me. Because people knew Harry would do anything for me. I screamed and begged Harry to save George, but he couldn't. Once again, Harry had to make a difficult decision to do the right thing. It took a long time before I forgave him for it."

The two women were quiet in the deathly pall over the room. "You mentioned that Harry saved your life and you didn't thank him. Was that to do with George."

Surprisingly, Ruth shook her head. "George died nearly two years ago, now. But about four months ago, I was kidnapped by one of our own officers who had been a sleeper agent for the Soviets. He was much more effective than the people who took George. He put me on an intravenous drip with a sedative that would kill me in three hours if Harry did not turn over secret weapons plans. And Harry did it. He saved my life and committed treason to do it."

Nothing could have prepared Jean to hear that. "He…"

"It came out later that the plans didn't work," Ruth quickly explained. "The weapon was a failure. And Harry knew it. But when I told Harry that it was unfair for him to love me, I didn't know that."

"Oh, Ruth." Jean did not know what else to say. The whole thing was absolutely heartbreaking.

"So you see, I've been angry at Harry ever since. I'm not worth it, you see. Harry thinks I am, and I couldn't quite bear it. He presented all my merits to a review panel when he was suspended and he was cleared of all charges. But that's why we were sent here. They don't trust Harry for the important things anymore."

"And you were sent as punishment because you can't get away from him?"

"Yes," Ruth sighed sadly. "We've spent the whole trip bickering, and I feel just awful about it now."

Jean reached out and put a gentle hand on Ruth's. "Why don't you get dressed and I'll fix you some breakfast."

Ruth nodded. "Thank you."

Jean stood up and went to leave her so she could get up and dressed. But she paused, remembering something. "You said that I of all people would understand your story."

"Yes," Ruth said with a soft expression. "The way you and Lucien are…I guess it reminds me of Harry and me."

That was not what Jean expected at all. Nor did she knew what to do with a statement like that. With a tight smile, she gave a curt nod and hurried out of the room.

* * *

Ruth felt much lighter after telling Jean that abridged version of her life with Harry. She had never told anyone that much about it all before. And even though she had not said it out loud to anyone, even herself, Ruth liked to be able to share the things that had made her fall in love with him. And she did love him. She had for longer than she could remember. Even when she had been engaged to marry another man—a good man, a young handsome doctor who treated her well—it had still been Harry that she loved. Harry that she could not have. And now he was in holding cell in a small Australian town, and she would stop at nothing to get him out. Jean was right. It was time Ruth told him how she felt.

She dressed in her clothes from the day before and did her best to try to smooth back her hair into some semblance of a style. She really needed a bath and some fresh clothes and her curlers. Lucien had told her he would take her back to the hotel, thank goodness.

When she went out to the kitchen, Jean was just finishing putting two plates of eggs and toast together. One was put in front of Lucien and one was put in front of Ruth.

"Thank you so much, Jean," Ruth said kindly.

Jean just nodded and turned to the sink to wash the pans. Ruth had a feeling that she'd said too much and made Jean uncomfortable, but hopefully she had not completely embarrassed herself and ruined Jean's opinion of her. Ruth liked Jean—there was nothing Ruth had seen so far that made her dislike Jean—and she hoped to keep things that way.

Lucien began to speak while they ate. "I'll take you to the hotel first, of course. I'd like to have a chat with the maid that found Nesbit's body while I wait for you. And then after I thought we'd go by the police station. I want a look at the things found in the room. See if I can get my hands on that notebook."  
"What notebook?" Ruth asked him.

"Nesbit had a notebook full of code. And since you know my past working with Harry, I'm sure you know I've got a bit of experience with such things."

Ruth was nearly bursting to start laughing, but she held it in as best she could. It was not polite or proper for her to brag, and Ruth was fairly certain she could say nothing to Lucien now that would not make her look too full of herself.

But Lucien regarded her closely. "Ruth? Something you want to say?"

She chewed on her lip, trying to find the right words. "Well, I've got a bit of experience with code myself."

"Working with Harry, I'm sure you do," he reasoned.

"No, actually, this was from before I worked with Harry."

"Oh?"

As nonchalantly as she could, Ruth said, "I was recruited out of Oxford, actually, to work at Bletchley Park."

Lucien's eyes were big as dinner plates. Even Jean turned around to look at her with surprise. And it was Jean who exclaimed, "You were a codebreaker during the war?"

Ruth gave what was hopefully a modest smile, but she knew her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Yes. I spent a year breaking Nazi codes after I got my degree. I stayed working for the government after the war ended, though obviously those skills weren't really needed anymore."

"Well that decides that," Lucien said with an amazed sort of laugh. "I'll get the notebook and you can figure out the code!"

"Yes, I daresay I can," Ruth said under her breath. Thankfully, neither Lucien nor Jean heard her. Jean went back to doing the dishes, and Ruth and Lucien finished their breakfast.


	13. Chapter 13

When Lucien dropped Ruth at the hotel, he immediately asked to speak to Mary, the maid who had discovered Nesbit's body. Apparently Ned had spoken to her initially, as he'd been the first on the scene. But Lucien knew that oftentimes, people who were shocked or upset in situations such as this forgot details that police needed to solve a case. And, of course, while the police did an exemplary job most of the time, Lucien also knew that he had a way of asking questions and making connections that police might sometimes miss. And the only thing for it was for Lucien to do some interviewing and investigating of his own.

Mary Merkins, the maid, was extremely young and clearly still quite shaken by what she had found the day before. But she was quite a nice girl proved very pleased to help.

"I knocked and announced myself like always. There was no answer. And the door was unlocked but sometimes the guests forget to lock up when they leave, so that wasn't too strange. But then I went in and saw him right there on the floor!" she cried.

The poor girl's breath hitched, and Lucien had to offer her a cup of tea to calm her nerves. But once they got back to the matter at hand, she gave Lucien a very good lead indeed.

"Did you see anything when you were in the hallway? Anything out of the ordinary?" he asked.

Mary thought for a moment. "Well, I went to call for help." She frowned, trying to remember. "Oh, yes, that's right! I don't think I told the police. I didn't think of it till just now. One of the other guests opened his door and gave me a funny look before I even said anything. He looked like he was coming out, but when he saw me, but then he shut the door again."

"And what guest was that?"

"He was in Room 320. Just across the hall," she replied.

Lucien was about to jump up to go to Room 320 right then and there, but Mary stopped him.

"But I just cleaned that room this morning," she explained. "He's checked out."

* * *

Ruth went up to her room to put herself together and tried her best to not think about Harry's empty room next door. She briefly wondered if the police had searched his room after arresting him last night. She'd have to check with Lucien. It would have been a good thing to ask Charlie when they were all talking, but she hadn't thought of it then.

But she could not be too concerned about that now. Lucien was waiting, and Ruth desperately wanted to see Harry. She took a bath and set her hair as quickly as she could manage. She put on one of only two dresses she had left clean at this point in the trip—a gray, stiff, satin sleeveless dress that tied in a bow at her waist. It was perhaps a bit formal for the day, but the other dress was an actual formal gown, which would be even less appropriate. She put a soft black cardigan on over the gray and her usual sensible black leather shoes and her old-fashioned seamed stockings.

Harry sometimes liked to tease her that the seam wasn't straight, which it never was but she never cared about, and it annoyed her to no end. But it also showed he was paying attention to her legs which she would never admit that she found quite charming, so she never did get too cross with him about it.

But having only the one dress left clean meant that Ruth would have to see about getting her laundry done in the hotel. Should she call to the front desk and ask now? No, best not keep Lucien waiting any longer. Perhaps she could take care of it later in the afternoon. Or, actually, she should instead wait till she saw Harry. He might have laundry that needed doing as well, so she would try to ask him when she saw him.

Ruth sighed to herself as she put on a bit of pink lipstick—red never suited her the way it suited Jean and other elegant women, a fact that Ruth lamented constantly. But she realized that she had told herself not to think about Harry and there she was, thinking about Harry anyway. Though that was surely nothing new. In some way or other, Ruth's entire life revolved around Harry. And two weeks ago, even two days ago, that reality was a source of her eternal frustration and resentment. How dare he lay such a claim to her like this! Her mind was always focused on Harry and the job they did together. Her heart cried out for him every minute of every day, even when she forced it into silence. And her very soul was so inextricably linked to his, there was surely nothing for it. Now, however, at least she could go see him and soothe that desperate part of herself for just one moment.

By the time Ruth put herself together, she found Lucien at the front desk of the hotel. He smiled when he saw her, and Ruth smiled back. For all that he'd given her a bad impression when he'd first accosted, accused, and arrested Harry, Ruth had warmed to Lucien quite a bit. She could certainly see what might make Jean—or any other woman—grow to care for him. There was a gentle friendliness about Lucien Blake, an earnestness of sorts, that reminded Ruth somewhat of a puppy.

"Hello, Ruth. You're looking much more refreshed," he noted.

She wasn't quite sure how to take that, but she thanked him anyway.

"I'm just getting a name off the register, and then we can head off to the station. I've got lots to talk to Lawson about," Lucien told her.

As they drove, Lucien told Ruth what he'd discovered.

"The maid who found Nesbit saw the guest in Room 320 give her an odd look after she discovered the body. That guest, as it turns out, is a man named Lester Carr. Now, that's a name I know I've heard before, but I can't for the life of me place where. I'll talk to Lawson first, since we're headed there now. But I'd like to go straight to Jean after. She's lived in Ballarat her whole life, you see. She knows everyone and everything. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Ruth just smiled at that and kept her thoughts to herself.

Upon arriving at the police station, Lucien led Ruth straight to the hallway, telling her that the holding cells were just at the end, and he would come collect her when it was time to go. He then turned a corner, presumably to talk to Lawson and get that coded notebook for her. And Ruth walked quickly and nervously down the hall.

She found Harry standing up, elbows resting on the bars of the cell. "Hello, Ruth," he greeted. His voice was tired. Sad.

"Were you expecting me?"

"I heard you walking. Your shoes and your gait. I know what your walk sounds like."

That was a very astute thing to have noticed, which did not surprise Ruth about Harry one bit. But he did not normally comment on such things. She chose to move past it. "How are you?" she asked with concern. She studied his face. He looked as tired and sad as his voice had sounded. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and he looked pale and drawn. The amber of his eyes was dull, making the hazel look far too dark. She had seen his eyes look dark before, but not like this. This was a different darkness that she'd not seen since Albany. Since she'd broken his heart that last time.

"I've been interrogated for hours and I haven't slept. I could use a bottle of scotch and a punching bag, actually," he grumbled bitterly.

Ruth knew very well that Harry Pearce had only a handful of stress reliefs. In his youth it had been drink and sex and boxing. Now it was drink and classical music and boxing. Though usually it was only the drink that he chose to indulge in.

Harry continued, "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to see you," she replied, hoping such a thing was obvious.

"That's new," he muttered.

He was in a self-pitying mood, Ruth could see that now. "Well if you're going to be like that about it, perhaps I won't bother telling you what Lucien and I have been up to?"

"Lucien?" he repeated in surprise.

"Yes," she snapped. "As soon as you got arrested last night, I went to his house."

"Oh Ruth, whatever did you do that for?"

"Well, he's someone who knows you. And I am someone who knows you, and I had hoped that I could appeal to his better nature. You, after all, saw something noble in him once."

"Too noble," Harry reminded her darkly.

"Yes, well, he was here interviewing you with the police when I got there, so I spent some time with his housekeeper."

"I hope you got at least a cup of tea out of it," he interjected flippantly.

"I did. And then Lucien came in and informed me that he knows you're innocent. And he and I are going to find out who the real killer is in order to exonerate you."

Harry sneered at that. "What a nice little adventure for you."

Ruth used every bit of strength in her whole body to keep from getting cross with him. But he was hurting, and Ruth knew that when Harry was hurting, he lashed out like a wounded animal. She pressed down her annoyance as much as she could. "This isn't a fun adventure, Harry," she said softly. "Not while I'm out here and you're in there." Just to prove it to him, she reached through the bars to place a hand on his arm.

He looked at her hand in shock, as though he could not believe she would do such a thing. And perhaps usually she wouldn't. But he needed it, she knew. Harry Pearce was a hardened spook with a soft heart when it came right down to it. He had been beaten down and nearly broken by the Service. And Ruth knew that for all his scars from being shot and stabbed and whatever else, nothing had wounded him greater than Ruth herself. Now, thanks to recent revelations, Ruth wanted more than anything else to try and repair some of that damage she'd caused.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I know you're innocent. Lucien knows you're innocent. And we're going to prove it. We're going to get you out of there, I promise."

"You know better than to make promises, Ruth," he said softly. But he moved his arm so he could take her hand in his. "But if anyone can get me out of this mess, it's you. I think you know that more than anything else, I believe in you."

Ruth opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, she heard Lucien call out, "Ruth, are you ready to head out?"

Harry immediately let go of her hand and took a step back. "Come see me again when you can," he requested.

She just nodded. She hesitated, wishing she could say or do something more, but there was nothing for it. So instead, Ruth just turned and hurried back down the hall to where Lucien was waiting.


	14. Chapter 14

Jean settled herself at the kitchen table after collecting all the things Ruth asked for: a pot of tea, lots of paper, and a pen for each of them. Well, Ruth had asked for paper and pens, but Jean had insisted on the tea. Ruth had not looked quite right when she'd first come inside. For one thing, Lucien had allowed her to walk back from the police station by herself while wearing that very fine dress of hers. Jean could not believe he wouldn't have insisted on driving her. Though Ruth had admitted she was the one who insisted on walking so that Lucien could go to the morgue and back to the pub to see if he could learn anything more about Michael Nesbit. Ruth had the notebook that Lucien borrowed from the police evidence and had, apparently, wanted to be by herself for a little while as she walked back.

"Right, so I've got the notebook here, and I think once I can get the cipher, we can both take pages to decode," Ruth began.

"And how do you get the cipher?" Jean asked.

Ruth gave a small smile. Her pale blue eyes were alight with excitement, so different than the despondent expression she'd had when first walking in the door. It was very clear to Jean that this was what Ruth Evershed did best. There was a joy to her now that Jean had not yet seen in the short day they'd known each other. But this was Ruth in her element, to be sure. Ruth scooted her chair next to Jean and opened the notebook to explain. "I don't know anything about Michael Nesbit but I can probably assume that he isn't a professional spy. And because of that, there are only a handful of code varieties that are well known enough among laypeople that are possible here," Ruth explained. She pointed to the second paragraph on the first page. "You see how all these letters look jumbled? But they look about the length of a proper word, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's just looks like a gibberish sentence," Jean replied.

"So that tells me that it's probably a one-to-one code. Each letter is put in the place of another. There are other types of codes where groups of letters are put in the place of a single one, like the letter A might be represented by RZ and B might be represented by LQP, something like that. But these words all look short enough to be one-to-one."

"So how do you know what each letter represents?"

Ruth smiled again. "We work it out. Start with a single letter. Specifically a word made up of a single letter. That could only be 'a' right?"

Jean nodded.

"So there's one there," she said, pointing to a single letter K. "And then we find another small word. Like 'an' or 'to' or 'in' or something like that. Preferably starting with K."

They both fell silent for about ten seconds before Jean found KW. "There," she pointed.

Ruth grabbed a piece of paper and wrote out the whole alphabet and put the letters they had decoded underneath. "So A is represented by K. W is probably for N. Now see if there's a three-letter word that starts with KW because that'll probably be 'and' and then we'll know what the D is."

Working together, they had most of the common letters decoded quite quickly. Ruth guided Jean and seemed genuinely appreciative of her help. After almost an hour, they had the whole cipher filled in.

"Right, so we've got our cipher here. You might want to copy it down onto a sheet of paper for yourself," Ruth suggested. "And now we can go page by page and decode the whole thing. I'll start with this first page here. I'll copy down the coded page and then hand you the notebook to copy down the next page, and we can each decode our parts. Sound good?"

And off they went. Jean found that, like Ruth, it did not take her long to memorize the cipher. Ruth was obviously much more experienced, and the speed with which she could go through it was astounding. But Jean more than held her own. At first, Jean did one page for every two that Ruth did. By the time they were halfway through, Jean finished her decoding only a minute or two after Ruth.

The notebook was beginning to give away its secrets now. It was not entirely a diary, as Lucien had told them he hoped it was. But it was even more useful than just a diary. It was a client list.

Michael Nesbit, it seemed, was a keen traveler. He'd described his trip from Sydney to Singapore and then on to Hong Kong and then Yokohama before heading to San Francisco, across America to New York, over to London, and then the flight to Adelaide two weeks earlier. The route was summarized in the first few pages, helpfully. And after that, each place had a list of names of men and woman and descriptions of various transactions.

Ruth and Jean could only get through a few before they needed to take a break.

* * *

"This is surely illegal," Jean said, staring at the decoded page in front of her.

"I'm fairly certain it is when it's done like this," Ruth agreed. She eyed Jean curiously, interested to see how the housekeeper would react to the discovery of a notebook filled with descriptions of sexual exploits brokered by Michael Nesbit. Nesbit's trade, it seemed, was in matching men to prostitutes that they were looking for and then keeping most of the payment for himself. Prostitution on its own was not illegal in many parts of the world, but pandering and procuring in this regard, particularly in bringing women across borders for such purpose, was unequivocally banned in all parts of the British Empire.

Jean shook her head. "Those poor girls. What they must have been through to end up with Nesbit, being dragged all over the world like this."

Such compassion surprised Ruth at first blush. She had thought Mrs. Beazley to be a rather buttoned-up woman. Intelligent and strong and lovely, but surely conservative and probably quite religious. But perhaps that was Ruth's own prejudice to assume that a conservative housekeeper would vilify a prostitute rather than empathize with her plight.

"What sort of a person could treat people like that just to make money?" Jean continued.

"In my experience, the world is so much darker than anyone ever expects," Ruth replied softly.

Jean looked at her with such heart wrenching kindness that Ruth nearly wanted to cry. "I can't imagine the sorts of things you've seen," she said. "Just what you've told me already about what happened to George and to Harry and to you…"

Ruth nodded. "It's hard to remember that there's any sort of goodness in the world. That any man could be kind and gentle. Like Lucien. He's a nice reminder," she realized with a small smile.

A shadow passed over Jean's expression at that, and she just hummed.

"From what I know about his time working with Harry, Lucien has a dark streak in him like anyone else in my world. But he's a doctor. And he's a gentleman," Ruth added.

"He has his moments," Jean replied. "He does have a tendency to punch men for offending women."

"I assume he's done the same for you?"

"Yes, actually. An angry mob came to the house after my son got arrested and yelled at me about it. Lucien got quite upset at that."

Ruth smiled. "He's absolutely mad for you, you know."

"What!?"

If Jean's confusion and surprise weren't so very genuine, Ruth might have laughed. "He talks about you all the time. Even today, when we were driving from the hotel to the police station, he went on and on about how he needed you to help him in solving all this. And the way he looks at you, with such reverence and awe. It's really lovely."

A faint blush appeared on Jean's cheeks. "Well…"

Ruth knew she was pushing a boundary, and she did not want to upset Jean. She'd said her piece, just short of spelling it out that Lucien was obviously in love with Jean, and Ruth would leave it at that. She pivoted, instead. "I noticed it because it's similar to the way Harry looks at me. And I really wish he wouldn't."

"Oh?" Jean's focus was back, now.

"I work for him," Ruth explained. "And it's not proper, him being in love with me. But if he ever one day wasn't, I think it would kill me," she confessed.

"But you aren't in love with him, is that it?"

"No, of course I am." Ruth even surprised herself with how quickly she admitted that.

Jean frowned. "So why do you wish he wouldn't be in love with you?"

"Because the way things are, we can't be together, but we can't be apart. I could hardly sleep last night with worry over him in jail. And this morning at the hotel, I was fixated on needing my laundry done but wanting to wait to take care of it in case Harry needed his done as well. Which I forgot to ask him about because the second I saw him today, my whole being just screamed out for him. It's this divine sort of torture. I wish more than anything that we could be together, but we can't."

"Why not?"

"Whenever I let him get too close, our colleagues have gossiped about us and bad people use us against each other and good people die! People have died for the way Harry and I feel about each other. I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true. And I can't stop it. But if we were to try to be together and happy, it would be like tempting fate. After all we've done, Harry and I don't deserve to be happy together."

Jean did not respond to Ruth's outburst right away. She was considering her words carefully. And when she finally said them, Ruth was glad she'd chosen them thoughtfully. "I think," Jean began gently, "that love and happiness are not things we need to earn. They're a gift. I don't think I really understood that until after my husband died in the war. Until my sons grew up and left home and left me behind. Love and happiness are so very rare in the world, probably even more so in your world than mine. But that's why you've got to try to hold on to them tight when they're in front of you. We all deserve any bit of them we can find, I think."

Ruth was rendered speechless by such a heartfelt expression.

But Jean did not leave her to flounder. She put her hand on Ruth's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'll make another pot of tea and then we should get back to decoding this notebook before Lucien gets back from his investigating."


	15. Chapter 15

Lucien had an extremely fruitful afternoon on his own after he and Ruth left the police station. Lawson, after hearing Ruth's qualifications as a codebreaker, allowed her to take Nesbit's notebook. Lucien had relayed to Lawson what the maid, Mary, had said and the name on the register of the guest in Room 320.

"Lester Carr? Why would he be staying in the hotel?" Lawson asked in surprise.

"I knew I recognized the name. Who is he?"

"He owns that salon on the far end of the high street."

Lucien chuckled. "And why would you know that?"

Charlie interjected, "Because we've arrested him about a dozen times for running illegal gambling games out of the back room."

"Care to join me in paying a visit to Mr. Carr's establishment?" Lucien asked.

"It's closed today," Matthew said. "I pass by there on my in to the station. And I'd bet if he's involved in this Nesbit business, he's not at home either." The chief superintendent turned to his constable and barked, "Ned, get over to Lester Carr's residence. If he's at home, call for back up immediately. But I'd bet he's skipped town."

Lucien would leave the finding of Carr to the police, but he had another idea. "Charlie, have you got photographs of Nesbit and of Carr that I could borrow? I'd like to take them around town, see if the two of them were seen together."

And so, armed with the photographs, Lucien went first to the pub where he and Ruth had been so unlucky the night before. Sid, the bartender, was pleased to see Lucien again.

"G'day, Doc. What can I get for you?"

"Let's have a pint while it's quiet, and I hope I could ask you some questions. Things were a bit chaotic last night," Lucien replied.

Sid laughed good-naturedly. "True enough, Doc. Have a seat. What sorts of questions do you have?"

Lucien showed the two photographs. "Did either of these men come in here recently?"

"Well that's Lester Carr. He's in here all the time," Sid replied.

"Does this other man look familiar? He just came into town a few days ago, and I think he may have been with Carr and they might have come in here."

Sid took a moment to really study the photograph of Nesbit. "I think so. Carr was in mean sort of mood a few nights back. Usually sits at the bar or plays the darts, but he was at a back table and told Aileen to piss off. Pretty sure that was the bloke he was with." Sid looked past Lucien to the waitress clearing off a table. "Oi! Aileen!"

Aileen, far too old to work as a barmaid but pleasant as ever, made her way to the bar. "Yeah, boss?"

"Was this the man in with Lester Carr the other night?" Sid asked holding up the photo to her.

She did not hesitate for a moment. "Yeah, that's him. Bloody rude, the pair of them. I remember that man seemed too young to be so bitter as he was. They were at the back table, which was odd. Lester usually likes the darts."

"Was he English, do you remember?"

"Nah, he was Aussie to be sure. But I did have two Brits in last night. Older man and a woman," Aileen offered.

"Yes, I know the two you're talking about," Lucien said, not wanting Harry and Ruth to get any more involved in this than they already were.

Sid nodded and thanked Aileen for her help, as did Lucien.

"You've been a big help, Sid," Lucien told him. "Thank you."

"What's all this about, Doc?"

Lucien explained, "This man, Michael Nesbit, was killed yesterday at the Soldier's Arms."

"Blimey! And you think Carr had something to do with it?"

"He was seen at the hotel and now I know he was in here with Nesbit. He may or may not have killed Nesbit, but Lester Carr at least knows something."

After that, as much as Lucien knew he needed to share this information with the police, he was desperate to get home to Jean. He wanted to ask her about Lester Carr. And he also wanted to see how Ruth had gotten on with that notebook.

Lucien entered his house to hear the sound of women laughing in the parlor. He found Jean, Ruth, and Mattie all sitting and talking and having tea. "Hello, ladies," he greeted.

They all said hello to him in return.

"Jean, might I borrow you for a moment?" he asked.

"Of course," Jean replied, getting up from the sofa to follow him.

Lucien moved aside to let Jean walk out of the room first and turned back briefly. "Oh, Ruth, how's it going with the notebook?"

She smiled. "Jean can show you."

He turned back to Jean, who was leading the way to the kitchen. He followed her quickly. "You can show me the notebook?"

"Yes, Ruth and I decoded the whole thing. We finished just before Mattie got home. It's all on the kitchen table for you," Jean told him.

Lucien positively beamed. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jean blushed, pursing her lips to keep from smiling too much. "It was mostly Ruth. I just helped."

"Well, she's made a career doing this. And I'd bet not just anyone would have been able to be of any assistance to her. You, Jean, are a marvel."

She just brushed aside his praise. "Never mind that."

He wished she wouldn't do that, but perhaps it was best to keep things casual between them. For if she ever allowed him to say with any sense of seriousness what he truly thought about her, he might not be able to stop himself from going much too far.

Jean looked up at him expectantly. "What was it you needed from me, Lucien?"

_Everything_, his mind immediately blurted. But instead, he cleared his throat slightly and focused on the task at hand. "What do you know about Lester Carr?"

* * *

One bloody phone call from Lucien bloody Blake was all it took to get Harry out of this mess. Same as it took to get Harry into that mess to begin with. The next time he saw the man, Harry wasn't sure if he'd thank him or punch him in the face. If he could even reach Blake's face. The man was too tall for polite company. It was unnerving and unnecessary.

The police sergeant, Davis, was kind enough to drive Harry back to the hotel. As they drove, he explained, "Your colleague, Miss Evershed, was able to decode a notebook we found in Nesbit's room. That, plus the witnesses Dr. Blake spoke to today, have cleared you of suspicion for the time being."

The phrasing did not escape Harry. For the time being, he was cleared of suspicion. He would not be allowed to leave Ballarat until the real killer was found. Blake and Ruth both were quite tenacious when they put their minds to something, so Harry did not doubt that they'd figure out the truth in time.

Ruth had been spending quite a lot of time with Blake. Harry couldn't blame her. He always was a charming and handsome man. The added years had probably not lessened that. It was appalling, actually, that Blake should still be as fit as he was. Harry had gotten old and fat and lost more of his hair than he wanted to admit. None of that had befallen Lucien Blake. It was no wonder that Ruth or any other woman might prefer him over Harry.

He trudged up the steps to his hotel room. A room he had not actually gotten to stay in as of yet. It was already three in the afternoon, and Harry had barely slept the night before whilst in jail. Perhaps he'd take a short nap before dinner. Though before he did anything else, he needed to speak to Ruth. For what purpose, he was not sure. He'd think of something. But he just needed to see her. Whatever glimmer of kindness she could offer him, Harry desperately needed now.

Before he even opened the door to his own hotel room, Harry knocked on Ruth's door. There was no answer. "Ruth?" he called out, knocking again. Still no answer.

Dejected, Harry went to his room. Ruth was probably out with Blake again.

First things first, Harry desperately needed a shower and a shave. He set about doing both and realized that he only had one clean suit left in his luggage. That wouldn't do at all. Harry took off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to call the front desk.

"Soldier's Arms," a brisk voice answered.

"Hello, this is Harry Pearce in Room 317, and I was wondering if the hotel had a laundry service."

"Yes, sir. We can collect your laundry and have it back in about three hours."

"That would be perfect. Can you send someone up, please? Oh and with the key to Room 315 as well. My colleague is out at the moment, but I know she needs some things laundered as well."

Within five minutes, a maid knocked on Harry's door with a laundry sack. Harry gave her his dirty suits and socks and vests and pants. They then went next door, and Harry collected all of Ruth's dresses and the smaller cloth bag in which he knew she kept her dirty things while traveling. The maid took everything and assured him everything would be laundered and hung in the wardrobes of their respective rooms by no later than eight that night.

Harry thanked her and went back to his room. Finally, he could have his shower and shave.

Less than an hour later, just as he'd gotten himself dressed again in a fresh suit, there was a knock on the door. It was too quick for the laundry to be back, but perhaps there was another problem. Christ, in his life, there was always another problem.

He opened the door and saw none other than Ruth's surprised face. "Harry!" she exclaimed. "You're back."

"Yes, I'm back," he replied. The two of them stood awkwardly for a moment before Harry offered, "Would you like to come in?"

She came inside his hotel room and he shut the door behind her. "I suppose your being here makes things make slightly more sense," she said.

"How do you mean?"

Ruth crossed her arms and asked, "Would you happen to know why all my clothes are missing?"

"I needed some laundry done, and since you're wearing that dress today, I know everything else you've packed needs washing. I had the maid take your things along with mine," he replied pragmatically, wondering with slight panic if perhaps he'd stepped over a line with her. He never knew where the lines were with Ruth anymore. She kept moving them on him.

Ruth stared at him, her big eyes wide and filling with unshed tears. Her lower lip quivered. "Harry," she breathed.

Before he could respond, she had taken two steps forward and thrown her arms around him. She was shaking and possibly crying, but he could not quite tell. All he knew was that she was in his arms. Willingly. And Harry held her close to him as long as she would let him. "What's the matter, Ruth?" he asked softly, stroking her soft hair and breathing in the beautiful scent of her.

"The laundry," she replied, her voice muffled.

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "What about the laundry?"

She lifted her head. Two tears slid down her cheeks. "You knew I wore this dress because I needed laundry done. And I was going to have it done this morning, but then I wanted to wait to ask if you needed your laundry done, too. Only I forgot to ask when I saw you earlier. But you…you knew anyway, didn't you? You knew because you know me and…you care about me."

Harry reached up to take her face in his hands and wipe her tears away with his thumbs. "Of course I care about you, Ruth. That's always been the problem, hasn't it?"

She swallowed hard. "But I don't want it to be a problem."

"Neither do I."

The silence and tension between them with thick with importance as they stood there, holding one another and staring into each other's eyes. Harry knew better than to push too far with her. He had done so far too many times. He had learned, through repeated failures and rejections and heartbreaks, that Ruth could not be pressed or else she would run away. But Ruth was not running away now. And Harry would rather die than give her a reason to.

Ever so slowly, Ruth tilted her head up and leaned in closer. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Harry could wait no longer. His patience had been rewarded and he would claim the prize that Ruth offered. Their lips met gently, and Harry felt his heart explode with joy as Ruth pulled him even closer and kissed him with everything she had. And Harry kissed her right back.


	16. Chapter 16

Lucien wandered around the hotel lobby waiting for Ruth. Jean had invited Ruth for dinner, but she had needed to go back to the hotel to arrange for her laundry to be done. Jean had also offered to do it for her, but Ruth insisted on not putting her through the bother. And so Lucien had offered to drive her there and back while Jean started cooking dinner.

Ruth was detained for longer than he expected, but there wasn't really any hurry. Although Lucien Blake had never been much for waiting around. He liked being part of the action, feeling like he was making a contribution. He wanted to be thinking and working and doing. He did not enjoy being made to wait.

But for Ruth, he would wait. Because she was a brilliant, lovely woman with whom Lucien had very much enjoyed spending his time. And Jean, it seemed, had gotten on with Ruth quite well, too. The two women had done an absolutely brilliant job decoding that notebook. Once he saw the cipher, he knew it would have taken him much longer to figure it all out. But Ruth was a codebreaker by trade, so they were lucky to have her.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Lucien," Ruth called out.

Lucien turned to see her come down the stairs and was surprised to see Harry Pearce walking beside her. "I see why you were detained," Lucien noted.

Harry gave a curt nod and came to shake his hand. "Blake, I want to thank you for the work you did to get me out of lockup."

"You didn't belong in there. And I'm sorry I was the one who put you there," Lucien replied, shaking Harry's hand. The man had a firm grip even still. The years may have softened Harry Pearce in a number of ways, but there was a dangerous aura about him that Lucien still felt so keenly. He had not killed Michael Nesbit, but Lucien know that Harry was still more than capable of killing a man if he wanted to.

Lucien then noted, with some interest, the way Ruth hovered so close to Harry. The way her eyes seemed to sparkle. The way her countenance seemed lighter. How very interesting. Lucien knew, of course, that Ruth cared deeply for her boss, and she had been very distressed by his arrest. But seeing them together like this…something seemed very different than he might have anticipated. He did not think Ruth had been like this when he'd first run into her and Harry in this very hotel the day before. Then again, he had been so focused on his blinding rage against Harry that he had barely noticed Ruth. This, however, did seem different to be sure.

"Well then, you must both come to dinner. Harry, I'm sure Ruth has told you that my housekeeper, Jean, is preparing dinner for us."

"Yes, she did," Harry replied. "And I'm starving, so I appreciate the invitation."

Lucien turned back to Ruth. "Did you get your laundry sorted?"

A blush creeped up her cheeks. "Yes, actually, Harry had already arranged for the laundry."

"Oh good," Lucien said with a smile. "Shall we, then?"

The three of them headed out to where Lucien's car was parked. Harry insisted that Ruth sit up front. He gently put his hand on the small of her back to guide her into the car, opening the door for her and closing it once she was settled. Lucien watched, utterly flabbergasted that Harry Pearce, the man who had once shouted till blue in the face at Lucien's stupidity for saving his life, could be such a gentleman.

Once they were all settled in the car, Ruth even commented, "I can't remember the last time I was treated so nicely by two gentlemen."

"Blake always was a charmer," Harry grumbled from the backseat.

"I don't know how charming it is to bruise your hand punching out a drunkard in a pub, but it was rather gallant," Ruth said.

"What!?" Harry exclaimed.

Lucien quickly explained, "Ruth and I went back to the pub where the two of you had eaten because we thought that Nesbit, being new in town, may have gone there himself. But it was crowded and late in the evening, and when I went to talk to the bartender, I came back to find a man being a bit forward with Ruth, and when he wouldn't relent, I hit him."

Harry grunted in approval. "Well done. And you're alright, Ruth?"

"Oh of course I am. You know it takes more than a drunkard to bother me, Harry."

He hummed in response to that, which Lucien found to be quite intriguing. Obviously one saw a number of unsavory things working in British intelligence, but Ruth was just a secretary. A very gifted one, of course, but Lucien could not imagine that one such as her would ever be involved in anything truly dangerous. And though she was brilliant and strong, as Lucien had learned over the last two days, Ruth was a slight thing, and had a quiet sadness to her that screamed vulnerability. Though seeing her easy smiles and brighter disposition with Harry around, Lucien was not quite sure what to think. And perhaps the strangest part of all was that Harry Pearce, of all people, could inspire such things in a person.

* * *

Jean was an incredible cook. Ruth had been lucky enough to get a nice breakfast from Jean that morning, but supper was a different experience altogether. She had prepared a roast with potatoes and veg, all of which were cooked to perfection. It had been a long time since Ruth had gotten a proper homecooked meal—she herself was rather pathetic in the kitchen, having spent her youth in boarding schools rather than learning from her mother and her adult life working and eating in a work commissary or in restaurants—and Jean's cooking was more marvelous than Ruth could have ever asked for. No wonder Lucien adored her so much. Between her kindness and her intelligence and her cooking, even Ruth was a little bit in love with Jean.

Ruth ate her dinner and participated in the conversation as much as she could. Lucien was catching Harry up on the case thus far. He deserved to be a part of it, seeing as how he'd been wrongfully arrested for it, but he would certainly be useful. Ruth had worked with him for a long time, of course, and Lucien had worked with him all those years ago as well.

But she let Lucien do most of the talking. He had explained about Lester Carr, their new suspect who was not at his place of business nor at his residence. He also summarized the contents of the notebook that Ruth and Jean had decoded. And as he spoke, Ruth could not help but watch the other people at the table. That was what she was best at, it seemed. Watching people. She watched Jean, who could not seem to keep the small smile from her lips as she hung on every word Lucien said. She watched Harry, who had a look of concentration on his face that Ruth knew from experience meant that he was listening carefully to someone he respected. And she watched Lucien, who was so animatedly discussing this mystery. There was something wonderful about it all, the four of them sitting there together.

Unable to help herself, Ruth reached under the table Harry beside her and put a soft hand on his knee. Thanks to his training, Harry barely reacted. But Ruth did notice the hint of a smile on his lips. Very subtly, he took his napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth before putting it back down and taking Ruth's hand in his. Their fingers laced together, resting on his thigh. Ruth knew she'd have to let go to keep up the normalcy and to continue eating the delicious meal, but her heart fluttered in her chest to be able to just reach out to Harry like this. This whole experience, being away from their regular life, the crisis of Harry's arrest, the warm encouragement from Jean, it all seemed to cure Ruth of the obstacles she had once been so convinced were in her path. Obstacles that kept her away from Harry. She did not want to be kept away from him anymore. She wanted to hold his hand like this, to be wrapped up in those big arms of his, to kiss him passionately as she'd done in his hotel room.

Oh god, that kiss! Ruth pressed her lips together to keep from bursting out with a beaming smile. She could still feel the ghost of that kiss. She did not think she would ever forget that feeling. No one had ever kissed her like that. Though that should not have been a surprise. Harry had something of a reputation in his younger days as a field officer. And not only that, Ruth knew that there was something different about kissing someone you loved. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Harry loved her and that she loved him.

"What do you think, Ruth?"

Lucien's question directed at her broke her away from her lovely daydreams and forced her to let go of Harry's hand. "What was that?" she asked, taking a sip of wine to give herself a bit of time to recover.

"Do you think Lester Carr is our killer?" Lucien asked again.

"Well I'd like to have a look at his salon," she said, thinking aloud. "The police have arrested him for running gambling games, but what if that's not the only illegal activity he's involved in? There's often lots of women coming in and out of a salon. Might be the perfect cover for pandering and procuring."

"I'd hate to think of something like that going on in Ballarat," Jean noted. "But I will say that Carr's salon does have something of a reputation."

"How so?" Ruth asked curiously.

"I've never been there myself. It's known to be inexpensive, and the clientele are…not church-going women," Jean said delicately.

"So then it's possible that some of those heathen women could be involved in Nesbit's sort of business," Harry concluded.

"It is possible," Jean conceded.

Ruth frowned, thinking. "What are the prostitution laws in Australia? I don't know the British laws off the top of my head, actually. And does it differ by territory?"

"I've got the various legal code books in my study, Ruth. After dinner, let's you and I take a look, eh?" Lucien offered.

She nodded enthusiastically. A room of books for her to research. Nothing could be better after dinner entertainment for Ruth. Whether or not the legality of all of this would help solve the mystery or find Lester Carr, she didn't know. But knowing more about the subject of a problem was never a bad idea.

Harry caught her eye and he gave a sly wink. He knew better than anyone that this was what Ruth loved more than anything. Though the both of them may have preferred to go back to kissing, Ruth had a feeling that they'd have plenty of time for all of that later.


	17. Chapter 17

After they all finished eating dinner, Lucien took Ruth to his study to have a look at those law books. She looked back to Harry for him to join, but he waved her away. And so Jean was left alone in the kitchen with Harry Pearce.

He was an interesting man. Different than Jean had expected. She knew he had been Lucien's superior many years before in Hong Kong, but it did not fully cross her mind that Harry would be older than Lucien. And he very obviously was. Not that he was too much of an old man, but there was a weariness and gravitas about him that denoted his age and position. He was also so very much older than Ruth. Not that an age difference was so much of a problem, particularly when two people had the shared history that Ruth and Harry obviously had.

At first glance, they did look mismatched; Ruth was a quiet and pretty young woman, and Harry was quite the picture of a middle-aged man. But, Jean knew, Ruth's experience made her older than her years—and she was at least thirty-five anyway—and Harry's obvious power made him strangely ageless. Watching the two of them at dinner had solidified in Jean's mind that these two people were, in fact, very well matched. Ruth was so much happier beside him than Jean had yet seen. And Harry looked at her with such tenderness. It really was quite lovely to see.

And now Harry was looking at Jean herself. The intelligence and intensity of those dark eyes of his would have been disconcerting if Jean did not already know so much about the man from both Lucien and Ruth. But she tried not to let his honey-hazel gaze put her off. "Harry, if you'd like to have a seat in the parlor and pour yourself a drink while I'm finishing up the dishes…"

"Can I help?" he asked, interrupting her suggestion to make himself comfortable.

"Oh!" Such a request had not occurred to her. "You don't have to, it's alright."

"If you're worried about my ability in a kitchen, I promise I'm not as useless as I seem," he joked.

"I would never think you useless," Jean replied politely.

"It's alright. Most women assume I know nothing about cooking and cleaning. Ruth, actually, made some god-awful casserole and had it sent to me when I was on house arrest during a suspension once. She tries, bless her, but she's an awful cook," Harry said.

"And you're not?"

He smiled, obviously appreciating the way Jean subtly challenged him. "No, actually, I quite enjoy cooking. I have groceries delivered every week and I make all my meals for myself at home. I'm working more often than not, but I do try to make dinner a few times a week when I can."

"You don't have a housekeeper?"

"Oh lord, no. I'm sure an unmarried man of means would be expected to have one but the nature of my job, you see, means that I'm distrusting and I prefer my own company. I don't want someone underfoot in my home. And, as I said, I enjoy cooking and cleaning. I do have someone come in twice a month for my laundry and to do the general dusting and vacuuming, but otherwise, I can fend for myself."

Jean was rightfully impressed by that. Most men, Lucien included, could not feed themselves if their lives depended on it. Harry Pearce, it seemed, was a different sort. Jean found such a thing refreshing and altogether quite lovely. And it was strangely nice that Ruth was not much of a cook but Harry seemingly was. If they could ever find a way to work it out, theirs might be a very interesting household. Imagine, a man doing the cooking and cleaning! "Alright then," Jean said, "you can dry the dishes for me."

Harry helped clear the table and bring everything to the sink for Jean. He took off his jacket and put it on the back of a chair and rolled up his sleeves. Jean could not help but notice that Harry Pearce did not have the muscular physique of Lucien Blake—though very few men did—but he did have an obvious strength about him with that bulky frame. He was a man of his age, to be sure, but he possessed a certain power that Jean knew could be quite appealing.

As she washed the dishes and handed them to Harry, Jean thought to strike up some conversation. "Ruth's told me that you and Lucien worked together in Hong Kong?"

"Yes. It was a long time ago," Harry replied. "He saved my life."

Jean gave a small smile. "Yes, he does things like that. But then you fired him for it?"

Harry chuckled. "It may have been ungrateful of me, but at the time, it was for the best. I don't know about now, but back then, he was reckless. And it was only a matter of time before he got himself killed for it. I didn't want to see that happen. And when I was in the hospital recovering, thanks to him, I couldn't protect him from himself any other way."

The way Harry expressed that showed a depth of kindness Jean might not have otherwise expected. Ruth's love of this man made more and more sense the more Jean learned about him. "Thank you for that," she told him. "I mean, I didn't know him at the time, but I have no doubt you were right. He still has a reckless streak in him, and particularly in that line of work, he was apt to get himself killed. And then where would any of us be now?"

"I'm glad he was able to make his way back to Australia," Harry said with a small smile. "And to you. Seems to have done him a lot of good."

Jean did not quite know what to say to that. But she smiled and returned her attention to scrubbing the roasting pan.

* * *

The evening was pleasant and warm, something Harry was not used this time of year. Australia was another world that way, being in the southern hemisphere. But because it was a warm night, Harry was able to convince Lucien that he and Ruth did not need him to drive them back to their hotel. He was also able to convince Ruth that it would be nice for them to both walk back together.

And so here they were, walking down the road from the Blake house toward their hotel. They had started out perfectly respectable, walking side by side as they always did. But their pace slowed. They were not in London. They were not on their way to anywhere on a particular schedule. And as they strolled, Ruth took Harry's hand and laced their fingers together.

"That's the second time tonight you've done that," he noted. This was the first either of them had spoken since saying goodnight to Jean and Lucien and thanking them for dinner.

Ruth smiled up at him. "I know. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Quite the opposite," he assured her. Boldly, he lifted their hands to his lips and kissed her fingers.

Her smile only grew at that, but she did not make any further comment.

They walked along quietly for a little while before Harry spoke again. "I'd forgotten what a good man Blake can be."

"I've found him to be a bit brash but yes, a good man. He's smart and he's kind," Ruth replied.

"I'll admit I was quite jealous when you spoke of him this morning."

"Were you?"

Harry hummed in the affirmative. "But then tonight I realized I didn't need to be."

"Was it because I kissed you?"

"Well, that was why I didn't hit him when I saw him in the hotel lobby. I was too happy to be angry and jealous of him. But I'm sure you've noticed the way he is with his housekeeper."

Ruth gave a little laugh at that. "They're quite obvious. To everyone except each other, I think. You should hear how he talks about her. That, more than anything else, was what made me sure he was a good man. I didn't have the best opinion of him from the way he treated you yesterday."

"And she's a good woman, that Jean Beazley," Harry added.

"Do I need to be jealous now?" she teased.

"No, never," Harry replied softly.

She just smiled. "You're right though. Jean is wonderful. It was talking to her that helped me see things clearly where you're concerned."

"Oh?" Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from asking too many questions, from demanding too much. They were happy, for the moment. She was holding his hand and she had kissed him and they seemed to be moving forward. But Harry knew all too well that no one could backtrack like Ruth Evershed. And if he pushed, if he cornered her or pressured her, she might bolt like a startled horse. Again.

Ruth squeezed his hand comfortingly. "I've always had it in my mind that there was too much between us for us to ever really be together and far too much for us to ever be free of each other, even if we wanted to be. There were always obstacles in our way. The job and Juliet and the gossip and George and the Russians and everything else. I thought…I thought we didn't deserve to be together. To be happy."

Harry stopped walking then, scared for what she might say next, terrified that all those things might still be too much for her to bear. Always, Harry knew, in the face of those things, he had been found wanting. He was not enough for her. He was never enough for her. And while he knew that, he desperately longed for the chance to prove himself, to try to his dying breath to make her happy.

She turned to face him and let go of his hand to place her palm on his cheek. "But love and happiness are not things we earn in life. They're far too rare, even for people who do deserve them. They're a gift. And that's why we've got to hold tight when they're in front of us."

"And Jean told you that?" Harry breathed, still afraid to break the moment.

Ruth's stormy blue eyes were shining brightly in the moonlight. "Yes, she did," she answered. "I've never understood it that way before. But with you in jail like that and with everything else so far away, it all seemed to make sense. And I think now we've got to hold onto each other, Harry."

His heart screamed out his love for her. He nearly opened his mouth to tell her. To ask her to marry him. To beg her to let him hold her and never let her go. But Harry did not say any of that. Instead, he folded her in his embrace and kissed her once again.

Ruth opened her mouth to him, moaning softly as his tongue tasted hers. She held his cheeks and let her fingers slide back into his hair to keep him close. His hands wandered up and down her back, not daring to explore anywhere more intimate. Yet. He maintained his self-control and just enjoyed all that she offered him for now.

But all too soon, she pulled away. The both of them were slightly breathless and smiling. "We should get back to the hotel," she suggested. "It's been a long few days. We need to get some sleep."

Harry wished that he could fall asleep beside her, knowing that he might never sleep so well as when she was in his arms, but again, he knew better than to press. Perhaps one day he could be granted such a liberty. Eventually, if he were very lucky, he might not have to say goodnight to Ruth and watch her close a door behind her as he knew she would tonight. But tonight, at least, he could say goodnight and kiss her again. And tonight, for the first time in a very long while, Harry Pearce would fall asleep full of hope.


	18. Chapter 18

Late that night, after Harry and Ruth had left and Jean had gone to bed and Mattie had come home from her evening with her friends, Lucien sat up alone in his study with a bottle of whiskey. Such a thing was far from rare for him. But tonight was different.

Tonight, Lucien was not caught in an endless well of despair. He was not filled with regrets and nightmares and horrors of his past. Though that being said, Harry Pearce certainly did bring up quite a bit of the past for Lucien that he had not had to confront in a very long time. In many ways, he had enjoyed his time in Hong Kong. He was a good spy, skilled with thinking on his feet and ingratiating himself to all sorts of unseemly people. He had enjoyed the thrill of that work, and he had appreciated that it allowed him to continue his search for Mei Lin and for Li. He may have even gotten close to finding the truth of their fate and being reunited with his beloved Li if it were not for his untimely dismissal.

Lucien took another sip of scotch. Harry Pearce. In two days, that was all Lucien had thought about. But he had not had cause to think of the man in years. Seeing him again had brought back that violent wave of rage over every rotten thing Harry had ever done. But his anger had cooled now. Seeing Harry again after so long had reminded Lucien of who the man truly was. He had always been a spy, and, when necessary, a ruthless killer. And Ruth had certainly softened Lucien towards Harry as well. Her faith and devotion to him had reminded Lucien that for all the hardness of Harry Pearce, he had been one of the most caring people in the Service. Harry had looked out for him when no one else would have bothered. Harry had wanted to keep him safe, keep him working, keep him going. With this distance from those events, Lucien recognized that now. Harry Pearce had been a brilliant commanding officer, and his was a life that Lucien was proud to save. Then and now.

Dinner this evening had brought up more for Lucien than just memories, however. Seeing Ruth and Harry together at dinner had been a strange revelation. They were both so at ease together. That was not something Lucien had seen or anticipated from either of them. And they were so happy. It radiated off them in waves. The tender looks between them and the closeness of their body language. They were in love, and Lucien had not quite expected it.

Was that what happened when two people worked together so closely for so long? Was it possible for a man and woman to ever share a working intimacy and not have it blossom into romance? It was a very special sort of relationship for a man to have a woman he could rely on and for a woman to have a man who depended on her and respected her. For Harry and Ruth, clearly, whatever trials and tribulations they had overcome professionally had led to this personal depth of feeling that was so innate to them. Did they even know what they looked like to outsiders? Did they know that everything about them together screamed out their deep connection?

And that, of course, led Lucien to pour himself another glass and wonder if perhaps that theory extended out further. Did he and Jean look to outsiders anything like Harry and Ruth? Did others recognize that Lucien and his housekeeper were not merely employer and employee?

Well, to be strictly accurate, the were just doctor and housekeeper. There was nothing more between them. Oh they had danced around one another for quite some time. Jean had allowed Lucien more liberties now than she had when he'd first moved back to his father's house. They had developed between them a closeness and reliance on one another that was, in all honesty, the most important and fulfilling relationship he'd ever had. She was quite possibly the best friend he'd ever had. Matthew was good for a drink and a heart to heart at times, but it wasn't the same. There was not the same safety as with Jean. That's what it was, really. After so many years of uncertainty and horror and loneliness, Jean made him feel _safe_. Never mind that he could not keep his eyes off her, thanks to the bewitching nature of her easy beauty. Never mind that the first and last thing on his mind at any given moment of the day or night was Jean. Through her gentle care and feisty scolding, Jean Beazley had wormed her way into his heart. He loved her, and that was really all there was to it.

In the end, Lucien did not give a single thought to Lester Carr and his possible involvement in the death of Michael Nesbit. His thoughts did not drift away from Jean. She was surely sleeping peacefully upstairs. And as Lucien eventually settled into bed himself, he wondered if she was having good dreams and if those dreams at all featured him as all his good dreams inevitably featured her.

* * *

Ruth woke up the following morning having slept better than she could ever recall. The sun was shining brightly through the window of her hotel room, and she was enjoying having a little lie-in in the comfortable bed. That lie-in was interrupted, however, by a sharp knock at the door.

She scrambled out of bed, asking her visitor to wait just a minute. She threw on a dressing gown and opened the door.

"Good morning."

Harry stood there with a smile on his face, looking rested and freshly shaved and thoroughly lovely. Ruth had not expected to see him so early, though he was not an unwelcome sight. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Nearly eight. I was going to see if you wanted some breakfast. But obviously you're not ready yet."

She blushed, realizing she'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before. "No, sorry. But if you give me about fifteen minutes, I can be."

"Take your time," Harry told her. "Come knock on my door whenever you're ready."

"You don't mind waiting?"

There was a softness in Harry's eyes that made Ruth realize what she'd said. And what his lack of response meant. He silently conveyed to her, _I have waited a long time for you, Ruth, and I'll wait another half hour so you can get dressed for the day_.

When he did not answer, she just smiled. "Alright. I'll be ready soon."

Harry glanced down the hall in either direction, checking to see if anyone was walking by. When he was sure there was no one watching, he stepped forward and leaned in a quickly kissed her. He pulled back with a besotted smile. "Get dressed," he whispered.

Ruth closed the door behind him when he walked back to his room. Her whole body was buzzing with a happy sort of excitement that she could not recall having felt before. She had not been this happy in a long time. Ever, perhaps. She and Harry had waited so bloody long for this, thanks to their myriad of missteps and the horrors they'd been subjected to over the years. And there was no way to know whether such things might come for them again soon. But Ruth felt a strange sort of hope and optimism for the first time in her entire history with Harry that now they might be able to face such challenges together, to hold tightly to one another when their love was threatened.

But it was no use worrying about such things now. Harry was waiting for her, and she was getting hungry for breakfast.

Their meal together was lovely. But their conversation turned inevitably to less pleasant matters.

"I've got to contact the army base to reschedule our visit. We were supposed to be there yesterday, but obviously we were a bit preoccupied. And I'm sorry I didn't think to call beforehand like I should have. But you were in jail and I was a mess, and I…"

"Ruth," Harry interjected, cutting off her stumbling rant over work. Such a thing was not uncommon for them. "It's alright. You can figure it out, I'm sure. See if they can host us tomorrow. We're technically free today, but I don't quite fancy having to face the Australian army just yet."

"We're not free today," Ruth said with a furrowed brow.

"Aren't we?"

"We've got to help investigate Lester Carr," she reminded.

Harry sighed in slight annoyance. "Do we really? I mean, now that I've been cleared of suspicion over Nesbit's death, do we really have to get any more involved?"

"We should finish what we start. Or at least I should. I've been working with Lucien on this from the start, and we owe it to him at the very least to see it through."

He regarded her carefully, thinking for a moment as he stared at her. "Are you sure I shouldn't be jealous of Blake?"

If they weren't in public, Ruth would have thrown her napkin at him. "No, Harry, you shouldn't be jealous. I'm absolutely positive," she told him softly.

"And you're not going to give up on solving the mystery, are you?"

She tried not to laugh at that. "What do you think?"

Harry sighed again. "I think you're probably going to drag me all over town trying to find a murdersome salon owner."

Ruth smiled, glad that he was relenting. "I think after breakfast I'll go up to the room and handle the army arrangements, and then I'd like to stop by the police station and see if they've got any leads we can follow up on."

"You do remember we aren't detectives, right?"

"Well Lucien is a doctor, so I don't imagine it matters much."

"Lucien was a spy," Harry reminded her.

"And you are still."

A small smile crossed his lips. "Yes, and so are you," he said quietly.

Ruth's heart skipped a beat at that. He'd never said that to her before. Oh he relied on her much more than any normal secretary. He let her help with all sorts of top secret things that she had no right to be part of. She assisted on translations and analysis and everything else, thanks to her education and background. But the work she did in the war was different from this, for there was no war going on now and there were plenty of men to take over all the jobs anyone needed a proper mind for. Harry kept Ruth as his secretary because of her skills, rather than in spite of them. And though he may have told her time and again that she was more than just a secretary, he had never once dared to call her a proper spy. And it was a wonderfully validating thing to hear.

He leaned in over the table and murmured, "You're a born spook, Ruth. And even though they won't give you the proper job, you're the best one I've ever seen. And I don't just say that because you've let me kiss you a half dozen times in the last twelve hours."

If she were a different sort of person, Ruth might have started to cry. But instead, she just put her hand on his over the table and gave it a squeeze. "Yes," she replied, "I know."


	19. Chapter 19

Lucien made his way to the hotel without much purpose. He'd called Lawson at the police station and was told that they were working on finding Carr and there was nothing for Lucien to do for the time being. He did not have any patients that day, and being home alone with Jean while she was busy with the laundry did not strike his fancy. And so he headed to the hotel. Ruth had become a dear friend to him, and he was learning to like Harry again after all these years. Perhaps he could spend the day with them.

He found Harry in the bar once again. Though this time he was drinking tea instead of scotch and he was alone, reading a newspaper.

"Mind if I join you?" Lucien asked in greeting.

Harry stood up and shook his hand, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Good morning, Lucien. What brings you here?"

"I thought I'd see if you and Ruth are free. I'll admit I had a nice time at dinner with you both last night, and since I'm at a bit of a loss for the day, I decided to just pop by," Lucien said.

"I'm glad you did," Harry replied, folding his newspaper and putting it aside.

Harry leaned back in a manner that reminded Lucien of the old days, when this man had been his superior officer and even possibly his friend. This man exuded power and gravitas and a kind of dependability and understanding that Lucien had gravitated towards. Harry Pearce did not bark orders and leave his officers to figure it out. Harry was a part of everything that was done, he understood what was going on and he understood the people for whom he was responsible. And he did not take that responsibility lightly. Which was why Lucien had been so incredibly hurt when he was summarily dismissed from the Service.

"When you first saw me here, you had quite a few things to say," Harry said. "And now that we're a bit friendlier, I think it deserves talking about."

"Does it?" This surprised Lucien, as he did not recall Harry being the sort of person who talks through things. For all his devotion to his job and his people, Harry Pearce was still and Englishman through and through and emotions were swept under the rug and emphatically ignored.

"Well I think it says a lot that you went from cursing my name and accusing me of murder to doing everything you could to prove my innocence and get me out of jail," Harry pointed out.

Lucien nodded. "That is true."

"So while Ruth is otherwise detained and it's just us, I wanted to ask you why you bothered? I might have thought it was for her that you helped me, but I know now that it's not for Ruth."

"How do you mean?"

Harry gave him a knowing look. "I've had half a mind to be jealous of you when it comes to her, but I've seen that I don't have to be."

"Ruth is wonderful. Lovely. But I…"

"No," Harry said, interrupting. "You've got Jean."

Lucien was rather certain he was doing a good job imitating a goldfish, gaping at Harry after those words. And Harry just smirked. What the bloody hell was that for?! Lucien had feelings for Jean, of course. In quiet moments, he might even admit to himself that he was in love with her. But he was her employer and she was his housekeeper, and if others could see the true depth of his feeling for Jean, that could be very dangerous indeed. Lucien had learned, over the years, that his actions often put her in a precarious position; the things Lucien did reflected on her, and if he was in any way seen to be less than upstanding, it would be Jean who would suffer the consequences for his bad reputation.

Thankfully, Harry breezed past that comment without waiting for a response. "So if Ruth's not the reason you wanted to help me, what is?"

"You, actually."

"I find that hard to believe, what with the things you said to me right there at that very bar," Harry reminded him.

"Well I think it's fair to say you and I didn't leave things on the best terms."

Harry hummed in agreement.

Lucien continued, "And what I had in my mind when I saw you again after all those years was a ruthless spy who would do whatever it took to get ahead of the enemy. And I knew that if Great Britain had an enemy in this hotel, you'd stop at nothing to eliminate him."

"Is that so?"

"Yes it is."

"So I ask again, Lucien, what changed your mind?"

Lucien gave a small smile. "When I sat across from you in interview with Lawson, the way you were calm and quiet answering all his questions, I noticed something different."

"Different?"

"I saw the years. The years since we knew each other. I told Ruth the same thing I'll tell you now. You're softer than you were. I've no doubt you're still capable of being ruthless like you were before, but the years have made something gentle in you, Harry. And that's how I knew you were telling the truth, that you didn't kill Nesbit."

"And that's what made you change your mind?"

"Yes."

* * *

Harry regarded Lucien carefully. Perhaps he was losing his touch if Lucien Blake saw the chink in his armour. But then again, he had not been in a proper interrogation. He had nothing to prove, no agenda to accomplish. He told the truth and that was all. Perhaps it was alright that he'd been seen as a bit softer than he once was. Now, given the progress with Ruth, he felt softer. He wanted to live in a softer world, a softer life.

"You know," Lucien offered, "I'm not sorry I saved your life. Even when I hated you for how you reacted, I never wished I hadn't done what I did."

Such words were curious to Harry. They spoke to Lucien's character, the character of a doctor devoted to preserving life, and the character of a good man who did not wish destruction even on his enemies. Perhaps that was how Lucien had survived the prison camp when so many other men had perished. But Harry wanted to hear it from Lucien himself. "And why is that?"

"Yours is a life worth saving," Lucien told him. "I'm a doctor, and it's my duty to provide aid wherever I can, but I think in life we meet people whose lives add value to our own. And for a time, that was you for me."

"It may be a decade late, but thank you," Harry said quietly. "It has been a relatively recent development for me to feel as though my life has any value beyond the role I play in the Service and the work I do. But today, perhaps more than any other day, I am grateful that I'm still here. And we both know that's thanks to you."

Lucien nodded. He did not respond, and Harry did not expect him to. Neither of them were accustomed to such bald displays of emotion. But the earnestness of the conversation was a comfort to Harry in that moment.

"And, for what it's worth, I'm not sorry I fired you."

His brows shot up his forehead and Lucien's expression went hard.

Harry cut off any protest and explained, "I told both Ruth and Jean this, and now I'll tell you. Back then, you were reckless. In saving me, as good of you as it was to do, you proved it. You didn't have the discipline to follow anyone's orders, not even mine. And perhaps I flatter myself to say that you respected my authority more than most other people's."

"Yes, that's true," Lucien said.

"And while I was recovering, I knew I wasn't able to protect you. Other commanding officers wouldn't have known what to do with you, to make sure you did the job and didn't go too far. I might not have dragged your bleeding body out of a hailstorm of bullets, but I have never doubted for one second that my firing you saved your life," Harry said.

Lucien stared at him, clearly stunned by that revelation. "You never said…"

"I don't think you'd have listened if I'd tried."

"I suppose not. So you…" Lucien trailed off again, his mind turning this new information over in his mind. He shook his head and said with a small chuckle, "Ruth's right about you."

"Oh?"

"You're a grumpy old sod, but you're a good man."

Harry grinned. "Yes, that sounds like something Ruth would say."

And speaking of Ruth, the woman herself appeared as if summoned by magic. "Hello Lucien," she greeted pleasantly. "I'm glad you were here to keep Harry company." She turned to Harry and told him, "I spoke with the base, they're not available tomorrow due to training exercises, but they can host us on Thursday."

Which meant two full days of nothing to do in Ballarat but fixate on this bloody murder investigation. Ruth, surely, was thrilled. But then again, without the distraction of work, Harry could spend some uninterrupted time with her, exploring their budding romance. He could spend that free time holding her in his arms. Kissing her lips. Seeing what other parts of her he could kiss. Ruth's neck, actually, had always been something of a distraction to him whenever she wore her hair back. He wondered what it might taste like. What color might it turn if he perhaps sucked on it…

"Harry, you're not listening."

Her sharp tone brought him out of his fantasies. "I'm sorry, what was that, Ruth?"

"I said that the police haven't done a full search of Carr's salon because they haven't gotten a warrant so I was asking we should all take a look ourselves," she repeated.

Harry looked to Lucien for his response first.

"I'd like to bring Jean with us. She usually has important insight into things. But I think it's a good idea," Lucien said.

And so it was settled. Harry was off to help Ruth and Lucien play detective, it seemed.


	20. Chapter 20

Jean was pleased to be asked to join Lucien and Harry and Ruth in investigating Carr's shop. She appreciated being valued for the assistance she could provide, but more than that, she was happier than she had any right to be to just be included in the things Lucien did. So often she was relegated to being just a wife or just a housekeeper or just a woman. Left at home to cook and clean and tend the garden while the men went off and did more interesting things. She had never been wealthy enough to have much importance, nor was she educated enough to have a career like Joy McDonald or like Ruth Evershed. But Lucien wanted Jean with him for this, and that meant more to her than she could ever tell him.

And so the four found themselves wandering around the salon. It was set off from the street a fair bit and hidden partially by a few trees. Jean had never been to this salon before, but the building had been here a long time. Before it was a salon, she recalled, it had been a very rough sort of pub, and the council had worked very hard to run it out of town and repurpose the building for something else. Jean recalled that her Christopher once got arrested out of that pub many years before. Some of the city men had insulted the farmworkers and Christopher, always quick to defend and prove himself, had jumped into the fray and earned himself a broken nose and black eye. Jean was fairly certain that it was police surgeon Thomas Blake who had set that broken nose.

But that was a long time ago. Funny how things brought back such odd memories.

"Jean, do you know if there's any way into the building?" Ruth asked her. "The front is obviously locked."

"There's an alley around the back," Jean said. That much about the building she knew. In the old days, it was through the back that the drunkards would be thrown out.

Sure enough, there was an unlocked door in the back. Lucien insisted on going in first with Harry protecting the rear. Jean let Ruth, who was practically vibrating with anxious excitement of the investigation, go in front of her.

They carefully wandered through the labyrinthine halls in the back of the salon. They found the infamous 'backroom' where illegal gambling had quite obviously been taking place. Cards and dice and betting slips were littered all over. But they hadn't yet found anything that linked Carr to procurement or to Michael Nesbit.

"Over here," Harry called from around the corner. The rest of them all followed him.

Harry had found an office. An office with file cabinets all open and things strewn about. As though someone had left in quite a hurry.

"Oh I think this proves it," Ruth said, looking at some papers in one of the files.

Lucien came to look over her shoulder. "I think it does, yes," he agreed.

Jean, meanwhile, was in another corner of the office, looking at the pages of a notebook on the floor. It was not unlike the notebook of Michael Nesbit's that she and Ruth had decoded. Only Carr's notebook was not encoded at all. And it made Jean nearly sick to read what it said.

Harry must have noticed the appalled expression on her face. He came over and gently took the notebook away. "I think we should leave that one for the police."

She nodded. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and she could not seem to make any sound.

"Who the bloody hell are you!?"

Everyone turned to the doorway. Only Jean knew the identity of the man standing there shouting at them. It was Lester Carr. And he had a gun.

* * *

There was a roaring in Harry's ears when he saw that gun pointed in Ruth's direction. Something visceral snapped inside of him, as it always did, when she was threatened. But he need to keep focused and keep his wits about him. Carr was not pointing the gun at Ruth, he was pointing it at Lucien. But Ruth was standing right beside him and across the room from Harry, which distressed him a great deal.

Jean must have sensed the tension in him. She put a kind hand on his arm which did succeed in keeping him tethered to reality.

"Lester Carr, I presume."

Carr's attention was on Lucien, so it made sense that Lucien was the one to speak. Harry was more than happy to just watch and wait for an opportunity of his own.

"I said, who the bloody hell are you!?" Carr shouted again.

"I'm Doctor Blake, and these are my friends, Ruth, Harry, and Jean. And I believe you knew a man called Michael Nesbit."

Harry silently commended Lucien on his calm demeanor. This was obviously not the first time he'd spoken to a man pointing a gun at him. But Lucien had always done well under pressure, Harry recalled.

"You can't pin Nesbit on me. I don't have anything to do with that," Carr snarled, pointing the gun a bit more intently.

"Yes you do," Ruth interjected, causing Harry's blood pressure to skyrocket. "All these files you're obviously trying to get rid of, they all show your involvement in procurement. What happened, did Nesbit cheat you in some way? Is that why you killed him?"

Jean squeezed Harry's arm a bit tighter, obviously knowing that Ruth's taunting of the gunman might lead him to do something stupid.

"Nesbit got what he deserved! You don't do that to Lester Carr. Not in my town!"

Harry had underestimated Carr's utter stupidity. The man had practically confessed right then and there. Though men who believe they're about to get away with something do have an inflated sense of confidence.

"The police are looking for you," Ruth told him. "They knew they'd already arrested the wrong man, and they're coming after you. You won't be able to run."

"And who's gonna stop me?" Carr threatened, taking a step toward Ruth. "You, girlie?"

"I think you'll find that you'd be more successful with this," Harry offered, desperate to get that man and his gun away from Ruth. He held up the very incriminating notebook. When Carr looked to him, Harry continued, "The police already found one just like this from Nesbit. They know what he was part of. And this shows you were part of it, too. Hosting gambling is one thing, but this is quite another. And murder on top of that…"

Carr's attention had thankfully shifted away from Ruth and onto Harry now. "You give me that," Carr demanded.

"Or what?" Harry goaded.

Glancing over at Lucien, there was a wild look in his eyes. Probably the same one Harry had when Carr was too close to Ruth. Because Jean was standing right next to Harry, and Carr was getting closer.

"I didn't bother with a gun against Nesbit, but I think it'll be easy to take you down, old man."

Harry knew from quite a lot of experience what it looked like when a man was ready to fire a gun. And Lester Carr was ready and he was serious. Harry did not think twice before turning to grab Jean and throw her to the ground, protecting her with his great bulk.

And when the gun went off, all hell broke loose.


	21. Chapter 21

Lucien sat at the piano in his father's house. His house. It was his house and his home, and he knew that, but whenever he felt lost or upset, his mind reverted back to thinking of it at his father's house.

The house was empty. Mattie had left the day before to spend some time in Melbourne with her parents. Charlie was busy with Lester Carr. And Lucien was here, alone, at the piano. Jean was upstairs in her room, so the house wasn't really empty. But not having her flitting about doing a million things with the grace of a dancer made him feel alone.

Strange, that he should come to expect and cherish her presence now. When he had first arrived to discover his father's housekeeper, the reality of her presence had annoyed him to no end. But then, of course, Lucien had gone and fallen in love with Jean Beazley. And now he missed her whenever she was not within his sight.

As he plunked out a melody on the piano, Lucien drifted back to that afternoon. He and Ruth standing in the office. Carr walking in and threatening them with a gun. Harry distracting Carr to keep the gun away from Ruth. And when the gun went off, Harry had not hesitated to protect Jean. He'd pushed her down and covered her with his own body. But he hadn't been quick enough.

The absolute terror Lucien had felt, seeing Carr turn from him and Ruth and point the gun at Harry and Jean instead. Seeing her in danger like that had made Lucien nearly sick to his stomach. Thank god Harry had the good sense to protect her, to make sure she was safe. Lucien would have done the same thing for Ruth, he knew. Harry knew that, too, surely. The two of them had come to something of an understanding that morning, before the violent chaos threatened them all. But Jean was safe and unharmed, and that was all that mattered to Lucien in that moment.

Lucien had tackled Carr to the ground and knocked the gun out of his hands. Ruth picked it up and pointed it at Carr until the police answered her call. Lucien should not have been surprised, knowing Ruth's background, but there was something strangely wonderful about seeing an attractive woman holding a gun while talking on the phone.

Lawson arrived with Charlie to arrest Carr, and the ambos were right behind them.

Once everything was taken care of, Lucien drove Jean home. She was badly shaken from the whole experience. She was not a stranger to such precarious circumstances, but this time was quite different. She had held a gun to save Lucien's life. As far as Lucien knew, Jean had not, until today, had a gun go off in her direction.

Jean had not spoken a single word the whole drive home, though Lucien had not pressed. And when they arrived at the house, she went right upstairs and shut the door of her bedroom behind her. Lucien wondered, now, whether he should go up and check on her. He did not wish to pry, did not want to push her in any way. But her silence and isolation worried him. He wanted more than anything to be with her, to hold her and promise to protect her better next time, to do whatever he could to make her feel happy and safe and loved. It was all he wanted. It was all he'd wanted for a long time.

But instead, Lucien just sat at the piano, playing his sad, lonely tune.

* * *

"That was really stupid of you," Ruth said.

Harry winced in pain. "I wasn't thinking."

"Yes, I know," she said, a bit more gently this time.

They were sitting together on the bed of Harry's hotel room. The emergency medical team she'd called for had done a good job patching up the bullet wound. Harry had heroically protected Jean from being shot, but his years were catching up to him, and he'd been grazed in the arm by Carr's shot.

It was certainly not the first time Harry had been shot. Not even the first time he'd been shot since knowing Ruth. But she hated the very idea of it. When Tom Quinn had shot Harry in the shoulder, she had sobbed hysterically upon receiving the news. Malcolm had to escort her out of the office so she could calm down and not make a scene. This time, she had been better able to control herself. This time she had seen him sit up and grab his arm and swear in pain but be otherwise alert and relatively fine. This time, she knew he would be alright.

Lawson had been kind enough to give them a ride back to the hotel once Harry had been bandaged up. Ruth had come to check on him after she'd taken a bath and calmed herself down, only to find that Harry had stupidly tried to shower and forgotten that he wasn't supposed to get the bandages wet. And so here she was, rebandaging his arm.

"You scared me today," Ruth told him softly, keeping her eyes focused on his arm and not at his face, which was pointed towards hers.

"You scared me, too," Harry replied.

She furrowed her brow, still not looking at him. "How did I scare you?"

"I don't like seeing a gun pointed at you, Ruth. And you were taunting that man."

"I was getting a confession," she reminded him.

Harry sighed in slight exasperation. "Yes, I know you were. You did a bloody good job. I don't doubt that you have a good purpose whenever you do anything, Ruth, but you must understand what it does to me to see you in danger. After everything, you know I can't handle it."

"Yes, you can," she countered. "You always handle it. I've been in danger loads of times."

"And I've let people die and I've committed treason to save you," he growled.

Ruth fell silent at that. He was right, of course. He did not handle it well when she was in danger. He did stupid, heroic things. He would burn the world for her sake, she knew. And she had always hated him for it.

Harry lifted the hand on his uninjured arm and tilted her chin up so she'd look at him. "Ruth, I would do anything to save you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Harry, I do," she answered, trying in vain to keep tears from forming in her eyes. "But you can't keep putting yourself in these positions. Our work is too dangerous. I will be in danger sometimes. And you've got more important things to worry about."

"You are the most important thing in the world to me, Ruth," Harry interjected.

A lump formed in her throat. And if she weren't trying to tie off the bandage on his arm, Ruth may have run from the room to escape where this conversation was going. She swallowed hard, averting her eyes from his again. She remembered Jean's words, telling her to hold tight to love and happiness wherever she could find it. And Ruth quietly confessed, "And you are the most important thing in the world to me, Harry." She looked back up at him, blinking back tears again. "And so you've got to stop taking risks to try and protect me. I can't have anything happen to you on my account. I would give anything for you. You know that."

"Do I?"

"Of course you do."

"Why, Ruth?" he asked, shifting where he sat as soon as his bandage was finished. "Why would you sacrifice anything for my sake?"

He was pushing her to say the thing she'd been too afraid to ever say out loud. She'd admitted the truth of her heart to Jean, but she had never actually said the words. "Because I love you."

The next thing Ruth knew, she was lying in Harry's arms as he held her tight and kissed her.


	22. Chapter 22

Jean had taken the time she needed to be alone with her thoughts. To rid herself of her clothes and wrap herself in her dressing gown and curl up on her bed with her eyes closed and just breathe. She was safe now. She was safe and she was at home. But she could not escape the fact that she had been closer to death today than ever before in her life. And if she had died today, if Harry had not protected her as he did, Jean knew she would have died with far too many regrets.

The distant sounds of the piano drifted upstairs. Lucien played so beautifully. Thomas Blake had been, as Lucien said, a virtuoso. But what Lucien had that his father did lacked was a passion in his playing. When Lucien played, Jean felt as though she could read his very heart.

That song he was playing now was so mournful, it nearly brought tears to her eyes. And yet there was a romance in it that spoke to her. His song seemed to sing out to her, _I want you and I need you but I do not want to burden you with all of that_. Perhaps Jean read too much into that, but she could feel that this melody was so very Lucien, and she was hearing what she wanted to hear from it. Whatever it was, it moved her to get up from her bed and go downstairs.

Lucien did not notice her approach. He was absorbed in his playing, and she indulged in watching him for a moment. But it became too much to bear, to only watch him. There was so much that needed to be said. Ever so gently, Jean placed her hand on his shoulder.

He jumped slightly at her touch. He immediately stopped playing and turned to her. "Jean," he said in slight surprise.

She realized in that moment that she had so very rarely been the one to reach out to him. He was the far more tactile of the two of them. She reveled in the way he reached for her, the way he put a hand on her arm or the small of her back or got so very close to her. But now, more than ever before, Jean needed to be the one to reach for him. To touch him. To remember that he was real and solid and right there in front of her.

Lucien stood and her hand moved from his shoulder to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. For a moment, she just stared at her hand resting on his chest. "Jean, are you alright?" he asked her softly, interrupting her quiet contemplation

She looked up at him, realizing how much smaller she was than he when she was not wearing her shoes. "I wanted to talk to you," she said quietly. She felt her voice shake, knowing it would take a lot of bravery to say what she needed to say here.

"Of course," he replied, placing his hand on top of hers and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"I was…I was quite frightened today."

"So was I. Seeing Carr point that gun towards you…"

"Not just that," she interrupted, barreling through. "I wasn't just afraid of being harmed. But the idea that…if something did happen to me…that I would have never said the things to you that I should have. That…that I want to. There's so much I need you to know, Lucien." Jean was stumbling over her words. Such things were incredibly difficult for her to put into words, but she knew she must.

Lucien just smiled down at her. And before she could find those ever-important words, he said them first. "I love you, Jean."

Her breath caught in her throat at that. The words wouldn't come, then. But there was something else she needed to do, something that did not require her to find the words just yet. She took his hand in hers and led him away from the piano. He followed her very willingly as she made her way into his bedroom. Jean let go of his hand so she could close and lock the door behind them. The shadows were long in the room as sunset fell outside. She should have gotten supper on, but such things were unimportant right now. All that mattered was here and now, being in this room with him. And finally, she found her words. "I love you, Lucien."

* * *

Harry was losing control, and he could feel it. But for the moment, he did not care. He wanted just a little more. Just a little longer. He had Ruth in his arms, lying on a bed, kissing her after she told him she loved him. He did not want to let her go just yet. He needed the dream to last just a little longer.

He could not resist letting his hands wander underneath her cardigan to trace the lines of her trim waist perfectly accentuated by her dress. He desperately wanted to feel her skin and taste every inch of her, but he could not push too far, he knew.

But then Ruth pushed him back, rolling them over so she was perched on top of him. Her legs were resting on either side of his hips, causing her skirt to hike up. She was still kissing him, the scratch of her dress on his bare chest where her breasts pillowed against him. His hands journeyed down her back, trying to avoid where he wished he could touch her, resisting the overwhelming urge to grasp her hips and her bum and grind her against him. As it was, an erection would be extremely inconvenient at the moment, but his resolve was weakening. His hands found their way to her thighs and just up under her skirt to the tops of her stockings. Oh Christ, they were lace. She wore lace stockings. And the sliver of bare skin above them was soft and warm and perfect, and Harry nearly wept to feel the glory of her.

Ruth sat up suddenly. She was breathing heavily, smiling down at him from her position above him. Her hooded eyes were dark with desire. Jesus, did she know what she did to him.

"I love you, Ruth," he said. His heart was thundering the words, and he barely had the breath to speak them, but he needed to say it out loud. She said it, and it was his turn. He'd felt the truth of it for years, but always he had resisted telling her. It would have done no good to tell her before. She would have turned him away. She had turned him away. But now, for the time being, she didn't.

Her smile grew, beaming and brilliant. "I know you're not just saying that because you've got your hands up my dress and I'm sitting on top of you on a bed," she said.

He pulled his hands away as if burned. He'd honestly forgotten what he was doing, and he did not dare to press advantages with her. "I…"

But she pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him, laughing as she did. "It's alright, Harry. I'm only teasing." She leaned back in to kiss him softly, moving her lips from his mouth to his jaw and down his neck. "I quite like having your hands up my dress," she whispered before taking his earlobe between his teeth.

A strangled gasp came from the back of Harry's throat at that. His self-control snapped. His hands went back up her dress to rest on her hips and squeeze the firm flesh of her bum, moving aside the silk of her knickers to feel more of her skin. His hips thrust up off the bed against her, desperate to feel her and create more friction between them.

She whimpered against his skin. "Oh god, Harry!"

He turned his head to catch her lips in another fiery kiss. His trousers were getting quite tight. Only madness lay ahead, but he could not stop. Harry could not recall ever being so aroused and so filled with need for a woman before in all his life. He rolled them over again and pushed her dress further up her waist. It was too tight for him to reach up it any further. He palmed her breast over her clothes, desperate to feel more of her but being unable to like this.

"Wait, Harry," she said, pulling away from his kiss.

With a surge of horror, Harry realized what he was doing. What he'd been about to do. He climbed off her, standing three feet away from the bed, breathing heavily and trying to think about cricket and being tortured in order to quell his erection. "Jesus, Ruth, I'm so sorry."

She got off the bed, but Harry could not bear to look at her, terrified of the accusation and disappointment surely in her face now. She crossed over to him and put a gentle hand on his cheek, lifting his head to her. "Why are you sorry?"

"I…nearly…" He couldn't put it into words, it was too mortifying.

"I wasn't going to stop you, Harry," she told him. "Quite the opposite. I was going to get up to take my dress off."

His eyes went wide in shock. "But we…we're not married."

"Yes, I know that," she said with a small chuckle.

"You've never been married," he clarified. He did not want to say it out loud, but the reality was that Ruth had never been married and Harry was not going to take her virginity in his hotel room in Ballarat after he'd been shot in the arm.

Her hand trailed down his neck and bare chest and landed on the waistband of his trousers. "I was once engaged to be married," she reminded him. "And I know what I'm doing. And if you're not opposed to the idea, I think you should make love to me now."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: M-rating for this chapter.**

Like a drowning man finding air to breathe, Lucien kissed Jean with so much want and need that it almost scared him. He loved her so much, it was overwhelming. She had nearly died today, and he loved her, and she loved him, and he wanted her with a ferocity he'd never before known.

"Lucien," she moaned softly as his hands mapped the curves of her body over her fluffy pink dressing gown and his lips moved to trail ardent kisses down her neck.

"Jean, my sweet Jean," he murmured into her skin.

She began to undress him with trembling hands, undoing each button on his waistcoat and shirt. The suspense was more than he could take. He stood up and tore the clothes off his body, leaving himself only in his trousers. Jean's eyes went wide to see his arms and chest fully bared to her for the first time. Her dark gaze raked over his muscles. Her fingers traced the bulging ridges of his arms and pectorals and abdominals. Lucien let her explore and kept his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out to do the same to her.

When she'd finished staring at him, her eyes flicked up to his face. He was smiling. As was she. She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly before taking a step back. Boldly, so boldly he nearly passed out in brilliant shock, Jean untied her dressing gown and tugged it off her body to fall at her feet. She wasn't wearing anything beneath it.

Lucien snapped, then. She was too beautiful and too dear and too wonderful for him to resist. He pulled her naked body into his arms and kissed her with everything he had. Her breasts pillowed against his chest in the most seductive manner. He maneuvered them both towards the bed until they tumbled onto it, supine and tangled together and their kiss unbroken.

He rolled her onto her back and pulled away to look at her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and the slight irritation from his beard. Her pale, beautiful neck was red and blotchy from his earlier attentions. Lucien slid one large hand down her neck, pausing to gently massage her breast, and down to her flat stomach and to her thigh. Jean shifted and spread her legs for him. She pulled him back down to kiss her, whispering his name onto his lips.

His hand remained on her thigh, dipping between her legs but staying too far from her dark curls. Her hips writhed under his touch, silently begging him to touch her. And he could not deny her. She was hot and wet already as he traced her folds with his fingers before slipping one inside her. Jean whimpered into his mouth and her fingernails dug into his scalp in the most delicious way. Lucien added a second finger, curling inside her and thrusting faster and deeper until he felt her flutter around his hand. He pulled away from her kiss so he could watch her as she came, as she gasped and trembled and moaned his name.

Jean fell back on the bed to catch her breath. Lucien slowed his hand and stilled, watching her blink her eyes open and look at him. She grinned and gave a breathy laugh.

"You are so beautiful, my darling," he told her. "A joy and a pleasure to watch."

A naughty smirk curled over her lips. "I don't just want you to watch." She reached out toward him, trying to grab hold of his belt buckle.

He backed out of her grasp, needing to stand up to take off his trousers. His erection sprang forth and bobbed as he climbed back onto the bed. Jean had shifted her weight to pull the bedsheets down, and he got under the cool cotton sheets with her. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she had hoped to avoid soiling the duvet; the sheets were easier to clean, after all.

But no thoughts other than the beauty and glory of Jean were in his mind as she spread her legs, planting her feet on the mattress and bending her knees to welcome him between them. He lined himself up at her dripping entrance and slowly, slowly pressed inside her. She moaned and arched her back, adjusting to his length and savoring the feeling of him filling her just as he savored the feeling of being nestled inside her like this.

He made love to her at a steady pace, wanting to memorize every moment of being with Jean this first time. Hopefully the first of many, many times. Every movement of her body, every line and curve. Every little sound that escaped her while she rocked in time to his thrusts. And all the while, his eyes stayed locked on hers. He was lost in the dark pupils of her bright turquoise eyes. The shadow of the room made her gaze gray and sparkling.

It was that glorious sight that he knew he would never forget as long as he lived. As they reached their climax together, they continued to stare into each other's eyes. And all the love and heartache that had led them to this place, to this moment, seemed to make the moment an eternity.

* * *

Ruth watched as Harry's eyes went wide with surprise and dark with desire as she unbuckled his belt. He'd not worn braces, thanks to his arm, though maybe another time she could undress him from one of those gorgeous three-piece suits she loved so well.

He caught her wrist with his hand before she got to the button on his trousers. Ruth just smiled and took her hands away. Instead, she removed her cardigan and unzipped the back of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She kicked off her shoes and stood before Harry in only her slip and stockings.

"Jesus, Ruth," he breathed.

She pulled the slip over her head, showing off her very boring knickers and bra. "Take me to bed, Harry," she requested.

This time, he did not hesitate. He did not answer her, either. But he did put his hands on her waist and lead her back to the bed till her knees hit the back of it and she fell onto the mattress. With a devilish grin that made her shiver with arousal, Harry leaned in and unclipped her stockings. He lifted her right leg to roll the lace and silk down and off, kissing her ankle and caressing her calf before turning his attention to her left leg.

As he pulled her knickers and garter belt off her, Ruth did as best she could to keep from panicking. She wanted this more than anything, but Harry was right to be concerned about her lack of experience. She and George had only had sex twice before he was killed. And it was wonderful but nothing like this. It had nearly ruined her, at the time. The guilt of it. The knowledge that she'd agreed to marry George and allowed him to take her to bed before they were wed when all the while she wished most desperately that it was Harry who kissed her and loved her. And now, here he was. All her dreams were coming true, but she could not help the insecurity that she would be found wanting. She had told him she knew what she was doing, but that had been an exaggeration. She was not a virgin, no, but she had barely any idea what to expect. All she knew was that she loved Harry and she wanted him. And he'd gotten shot today, and she refused to miss out on this chance to have everything they've ever wanted together.

Harry knelt down, pulling her hips to the edge of the bed. Ruth was not quite sure what he was doing when he rested her thighs on his shoulders. But then his lips trailed over her inner thighs, and he whispered, "I love you, Ruth," against her skin. And then his mouth was on her. A high-pitched gasp escaped her. George had never done this before. But Harry with his pouty lips and his talented tongue, he was a marvel. He coaxed her higher and higher until she shattered, hips grinding against his face and heels drumming against his back.

He stood up and grinned at her proudly. His mouth was quite glossy, which made her blush. Ruth watched as he finished undressing himself before getting onto the bed with her. He took her bra off her and buried his face in her breasts, kissing and licking and nipping at each one in turn. Her fingers found their way into his sparse, curling hair, holding him where he was. Ruth vaguely heard her own voice saying Harry's name over and over like a prayer, but she had no real sense of reality. It was only Harry. The feel of him surrounding her in every way.

Eventually he pushed himself up, but he faltered, rolling over and wincing and swearing in pain.

Ruth had to blink back to the present. "What's wrong? Your arm?" she asked with concern. Her voice was hoarse, which she hadn't realized

"Yes," he hissed.

She frowned, thinking. "Alright. On your back, then," she instructed.

He did as she said, rolling over onto his back. He was naked and glorious and breathing heavily from pain and arousal. His erection had flagged slightly, but Ruth did not anticipate a problem. She got on top of him, as she had when they were kissing, but now they were both fully devoid of clothing. God, the feel of his skin against hers was like electricity. She wanted to touch him and be touched by him for all eternity. Ruth could feel him growing against her thigh again. She smiled and kissed him. "I love you, Harry."

Ruth sat up to line him up with her entrance and sink down on him. This was not a position she was used to—if she could claim she was used to any position. And Harry filled her and stretched her almost to the point of pain. Her head was thrown back as she gasped for air, feeling the whole thick length of him inside her.

"God, Harry!" she cried. She began rocking on top of him, feeling the way he moved inside her. His hands went up her thighs to her breasts, kneading them in time to her movements for a moment.

"More, Ruth," he begged, moving his hands back down to her hips and gripping her tightly, encouraging her to move faster.

Ruth's body seemed to know better than her mind. She braced herself on his chest and began to ride him. Harry planted his feet on the bed and thrust up into her, matching her movements. They were both moaning and groaning and the wet slap of their bodies seemed to echo through the hotel room, and when they both found release, Ruth collapsed on top of him. Harry's arms were wrapped around her, and that was all she could recall as his pounding heartbeat lulled her away from consciousness.


	24. Chapter 24

Jean woke with the sun. She woke early every day. It was her job, certainly, to wake early and make coffee and tea and start breakfast for the household. But none of her usual duties filled her head when she woke up that morning.

She was lying naked in bed, tangled in the sheets of Lucien's bed. He slept on his stomach beside her, limbs all splayed out in every direction. His arm was resting over her stomach, loosely gripping her waist to keep her close to him.

Jean turned her head to look over at him. His hair was sticking out at all angles, curling beautifully. In the light of day, she was pleased that he kept himself looking well put together, despite the beard, but seeing him without artifice and without effort, he was so soft and beautiful.

The bedsheet and slipped down to his hips during the night, and with the daylight behind the curtains bringing a bit of brightness to the room, Jean could see the crisscross of scars all over his back. Thick ropes of white, hard flesh. He had not spoken much about the horrors of his past, but Jean knew he had suffered. He suffered the anguish of losing his mother and being sent away as a young boy. He had suffered the horrors of being a prisoner of war after losing his family. She had seen him drink and carry on and retreat to darkness and isolation. She had seen the terrible drawings of the things he'd witnessed. But this, the physical reminder that he had suffered, the plain vision of it etched on his body, Jean was moved more than she'd thought possible.

Any regrets that she might have expected herself to have from making love to a man who was not her husband—her employer, in fact—had not entered her mind yet. Perhaps later she would remember the black and white morals of the church and her own convictions. She might live to know her actions were wrong.

But here and now, seeing the golden glow of Lucien's scarred, bare skin, nothing felt wrong. She loved this man. Loved him fiercely. She'd embraced the courage to tell him so. She'd done precisely what she'd wanted and needed in kissing him and removing her dressing gown and joining him in his bed. Sleeping beside him, waking up to this, was better than she could have ever imagined.

Yes, later, let her worry about who would find out or what they were to do from here. But right now, Jean could not bear to contemplate such things.

She gently removed his arm from her body, lifting it and placing it up by his head. His face was turned away from her, but she did not mind. Jean shifted herself beneath the sheets to perch herself on the backs of his muscled thighs. Goodness, every bit of him was muscled. Beautiful and strong and perfect.

Jean leaned forward to kiss his scars. Her hands smoothed the ridges of them, ghosting over his bum and back up, over his shoulders and tangling in his soft curly hair.

Lucien hummed and sighed beneath her as he began to wake up. She pressed soft kisses on this side of his thick, muscled neck. "Good morning," she whispered in his ear.

He tried to lift his head to look at her, but found he was pinned beneath her. He had the strength to roll them both over if he wanted to. Instead, though, he grinned into the pillow. "Good morning, my darling," he replied. His voice was deep and gravelly first thing in the morning.

Jean got her fill of him from this angle and slipped off him so he could turn and face her. He pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her slowly and languidly. A perfect morning wakeup. She indulged as long as she could before reminding them both of reality. "I've got to get up and start the day. Hopefully Charlie won't catch me on the landing."

He sighed discontentedly. "I don't want to think about that yet."

She nuzzled against his neck. "No, me neither. But we have to."

"I don't want to think of anything but you. You, beautiful and lying in bed with me." His hands explored up and down her back, as hers had done to him earlier. "Oh Jean, I've dreamt of this."

"Have you?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "For such a long time."

Jean smiled, snuggling closer to him. "Me too," she replied.

She did need to get up and start the day, but she would live in the dream for just a bit longer.

* * *

Daylight woke Ruth. A sliver of sun escaped through the curtains of the hotel room. They'd not bothered to close them too carefully the night before. But now the light was right in her eyes. She did not appreciate being woken this way. She tried to bury her face in the pillow but found her movements slightly restricted.

Harry was curled around her body, holding her tight. Ruth had been sleeping on her side with his chest pressed up against her back. She could feel the warmth of his skin. The slight scratch of his chest hair on her skin. His hand was resting on her stomach, just barely touching the curve of her breasts.

As happy as she was to be snuggled up in bed with him, Ruth was awake now and starting to overheat. She took Harry's hand off her, kissing the back of it softly before escaping his grasp.

Ruth sat up, pulling one of the bedsheets with her to protect a bit of her modesty. She heard Harry grumble behind her as she opened the curtains fully. It was quite early, still, but the light was extremely bright. She'd never seen anything like it.

"Come back to bed," came Harry's growl.

She ignored his request. "Look at this, Harry," she said. "Have you ever seen light like that? Early morning in London is always a silvery gray, but this is nothing like that. This the most golden daylight I've ever seen. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Beautiful," he replied softly.

Ruth turned back to see him staring at her with a smile. "You're not looking outside."

"I'm looking at you," he told her.

"Well, come look at this," she requested.

"I don't want to look at anything now that I've seen you. Nothing else could be so beautiful."

In spite of herself, Ruth smiled. She fell back onto the bed with Harry, who did not hesitate to pull her into his arms. "Good morning, Harry," she murmured.

"Good morning, Ruth," he answered, pushing her hair back from her face and leaning in to kiss her.

As she enjoyed her morning kiss, Ruth could not help but reflect on all that had happened in the last two days. Good lord, was it really only two days? Everything had changed in those two days. All her fears overcome and realized all at once. And this happiness she'd been so convinced she could never have was holding her in his arms the morning after they'd made love.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, pulling away suddenly.

Obviously she'd been distracted from the kiss and he'd noticed. "Everything's going to be alright, isn't it?"

"I don't know about everything, but I think you and I will be."

Ruth frowned. "Do you really think so? I mean, we're lying in a hotel room in a small town in Australia. We'll have work to do tomorrow at the army base. And then after that we're going to Adelaide and back to England. Our lives have never been very predictable. How do you know it won't all come crashing down when we return to normalcy?"

Harry gently cupped her cheek. "Ruth, you worry far too much. It makes you a brilliant secretary and perfect spook, but I hoped that we could have a bit of optimism now that we've finally sorted things out between us."

"Have we though?" she asked dubiously.

"I love you," he interrupted. "I love you and I will never, ever allow things to fall apart between us. You and I...this...it's all I want, Ruth. And if you want it too, I swear I'll do anything to protect what we've found."

The smile returned to her lips at that. "I love you, too. And I do want this. It's just..."

"What?"

Ruth chewed on her lips to find the words to explain. "I just…I was so convinced that if we ever…you know…that something terrible would happen. That the world would end and the sky would burn red."

"But it hasn't," he said.

And a bloom of warmth filled her at that. "No," she agreed happily. "It hasn't. It's just golden daylight."


	25. Chapter 25

Lucien paced back and forth by the foot of the stairs. He was wearing his nicest suit for the occasion. He'd gone to the Club plenty of times for dinner, but this was a special occasion. This would be the first time Jean was properly on his arm, and he wanted her to be proud to be seen with him. He'd gotten a proper haircut and shave in the afternoon before coming home to dress for the evening.

Jean appeared on the landing and came down the stairs, and Lucien felt all the air leave his body. She was wearing the most exquisite emerald green dress. It flowed around her legs as she walked. The sleeves and neckline were a sheer organza, showing off the loveliness of her. Her eyes were bright and her face smiling. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

"You look wonderful, Jean," he proclaimed. He offered his hand to help her down the last few steps, kissing the back of it when she reached the bottom.

She thanked him for the compliment and turned to straighten his tie. Her hand lingered on his chest. Surely she felt his heart beat faster at her touch.

But they could not waste time mooning over each other. Lucien shook himself slightly and led her out to the car.

Jean sat closer to him than usual as they drove, for which he was quite thankful. They'd been closer over the last two days. Lucien could not have been more glad. After the frightening run-in with Lester Carr, Lucien and Jean had confessed the most wonderful things to each other. They'd ended up in his bed. And instead of Jean pulling away, full of shame and embarrassment as Lucien had feared, she had kept close to him. Charlie and Mattie had probably noticed that something had shifted, but Lucien did not quite care. Lucien was happy. He and Jean had spent the last two nights falling asleep beside each other and waking up together in the morning. Such things would not last indefinitely, not until Lucien could make his plans to marry her, but knowing that they were both in love and wanting the same things was enormously lovely.

Lucien parked the car in front of the Soldier's Arms and went to open the door for Jean. They walked arm and arm inside to wait for their dinner companions.

It was strange, being back here once again. Lucien had come to this very hotel less than a week earlier after a call about a body. Ruth Evershed had quite literally run into him. And he might not have ever noticed her or gotten to know what a marvelous, brilliant person she was if he had not noticed Harry Pearce sitting at the bar. Lucien's blood had boiled to see the man he'd once revered and even loved in some small way, the man who had treated him so cruelly. But through those few days investigating with Ruth, Lucien's mind had been changed. Really, his heart had been changed. Harry Pearce was a good man, and the circumstances of their last meeting had caused Lucien to forget that. But Ruth with her unflagging loyalty and unparalleled intellect and unexpected charm had reminded Lucien of who Harry was. He was and hopefully always would be his friend.

The man himself came down the stairs at that very moment. He had his arm wrapped around Ruth's waist. She looked unspeakably beautiful in a black off-the-shoulder lace dress. Harry clearly appreciated the cut of it. He had not noticed Jean and Lucien waiting for him, and, thinking he was unobserved, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ruth's bare shoulder. She beamed with joy.

"Oh Ruth, that dress is so lovely," Jean gushed, going to greet them at the bottom of the stairs.

Ruth shook her head. "Harry says spooks wear black so no one notices us, so I've never thought much of it."

"Well I like the dress," Harry insisted.

He got a subtle nudge in the ribs for that remark. Ruth otherwise ignored him. "Jean, that color is wonderful on you!" she exclaimed, giving her new friend a warm embrace and admiring Jean's lovely dress.

"Harry, you're looking quite beautiful," Lucien cried out in jest.

"Oh yes, wherever did you find that tie?" Harry replied, rolling his eyes but playing along anyway.

Ruth gave his arm a playful smack. "Oh stop it."

The four of them walked together down the high street to the Colonists' Club. It was the last night in Ballarat for Harry and Ruth, and Lucien had hoped to give them a nice sendoff. And this was certainly the best Ballarat could do. Lucien held the door for the other three and followed them inside. They were warmly greeted by Cec Drury and shown to their table.

* * *

Harry always found himself on guard in new places. Not that he had any reason to be concerned in Ballarat when out to dinner with his friends, but new places activated his training and his finely-honed powers of observations.

The Colonists' Club was a lovely old place. It looked like any other Club in the British Commonwealth, which, given the name, made perfect sense. But Australians, he'd learned, were not exactly like the English. Nor should they be. Hardworking and dedicated people, as far as Harry had found so far. The day before, he and Ruth had gone to the nearby military base to do their official review. The people were friendlier than he was expecting, somehow. But maybe it was Harry who was just happier and lighter than he'd been in perhaps all his life.

He held Ruth's chair out for her, as Lucien did for Jean. The two men gave each other an approving nod. The pair of them were more alike than either would have wanted to admit a few days ago. Certainly even a week ago, Harry would not have thought of Lucien Blake in a million years. And now, after this short but harrowing trip, Harry counted Lucien among the best of friends he'd ever had.

They had just all sat down when Lucien suddenly swore under his breath. Both Harry and Ruth chuckled at that, and Jean scolded him. Lucien got up from his seat, followed by Harry's eyes, and went to a nearby table to speak to an enormous red-faced man who did not seem very kind or friendly at all.

Ruth had noticed, too. Of course she had. "Who's that Lucien's talking to?" she asked Jean.

"That's Patrick Tyneman," Jean said.

Before she could explain, Harry interjected, "He's a politician."

But Jean shook her head. "He's not, actually. Local businessman. The richest man in Ballarat, I think."

Harry hummed knowingly. "Even worse. A man who buys politicians."

"Probably, yes," Jean replied with a small sigh of resignation. "He's not always gotten along with Lucien. But he comes by to have tea with me sometimes."

Ruth regarded Jean curiously. "And why is that?"

"I'm not quite sure, actually. It started with him asking me to talk some sense into Lucien for something or other, which I'm only successful at about half the time, but now he comes by for tea to just talk. He's actually a very nice man," Jean answered.

Before they could ask any more questions about this Tyneman person, Lucien returned. "Sorry for the interruption. Patrick was asking who my dinner companions are and also felt the need to scold me for allowing a gunshot to damage the walls in the building's just bought. I told him that my English friend Harry prevented more damage by absorbing some of the force of the bullet with his arm."

Harry grumbled a bit at that, still feeling supremely stupid for getting himself shot. But Ruth placed a gentle hand on his knee under the table and he suddenly felt much better.

A bottle of champagne was then brought to the table, and when their glasses were poured, Lucien raised his. "I'd like to propose a toast to an unexpected reunion with an old friend and making a new one. Harry, Ruth, you're both welcome back anytime you like, and perhaps one day Jean and I can come see you both in London."

The four clinked glasses and took a sip. Ruth was the first to speak again. "Yes, perhaps you'll come to England for your honeymoon."

The reactions that ensued were something out of some farcical comedy. Lucien choked on his champagne. Jean blushed bright red. Harry just grinned knowingly. If those two had spent the last two days doing even half the thing she and Ruth had gotten up to, then…well…

Lucien quickly recovered and fired back at Ruth, "Well maybe you two can come back here on yours."

Harry's heart leapt in his chest at the very idea of it. Not honeymooning in Ballarat; he'd rather get shot again. But the idea that he and Ruth might get married and even have a honeymoon was almost too incredible to contemplate.

But Ruth just gave a nervous little smile, averting her gaze and worrying her hands on her napkin. "Perhaps we might," she mumbled.

Jean began to play along. "We'll have to keep in contact, surely. We can coordinate. Maybe the first of us to get married can take a honeymoon trip to see the others' wedding," she teased.

Harry just smiled. "That is a very good idea, Jean." He turned to his friend rather pointedly. "She's far more clever than you are, Lucien."

"Oh yes, I know. It seems to be a trait we have in common, Harry, falling for women who are our superiors in every regard."

"Don't I know it," he agreed with a small bark of a laugh. "But I think we're both smart enough to know not to let them go."

"Here, here," Lucien agreed clinking his glass with Harry's once more.

"Oh stop it, you two," Jean scolded lightly.

The four of them finally settled down and looked at the menus. But Harry glanced over to Ruth and caught her eye. They shared a smile and Harry's heart grew warm.

Maybe they would come back here on honeymoon. After all, it was quite nice. And Ruth had liked that golden daylight.

**THE END**


End file.
